MERCIFUL 

Unto  Me-A  Sinner 


ELINORDAW50N 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner. 


flDercfful  TUnto  flfte, 
a  Sinner 


BY 

Elinor  H)awson 


"The  greatest  attribute  of  heaven  is  mercy. 


1905 

CHICAGO 
THOMPSON  &  THOMAS 


r 


COPYRIGHT,  1905 

BY 
THOMPSON  &  THOMAS 


All  rights  reserved 


PREFACE. 

Man  has  always  been  granted  the  privilege  of 
telling  his  own  story  no  matter  how  shocking  it 
may  be  to  the  refined  senses.  He  has  boldly  set 
out  with  the  implied  assertion  that  if  you  did  not 
want  to  be  startled  you  could  exercise  your  own 
right  of  turning  from  him  and  leaving  him  un- 
read. In  all  of  the  actual  experiences  of  life  there 
rests  a  moral.  To  those  who  hold  a  contrary 
opinion  I  say  most  frankly,  go  no  further  into 
this  record.  Young  women  who  have  tried  to 
imagine  how  it  would  seem  to  live  in  a  state  of 
lost  modesty  have  given  their  views  of  things  of 
which  they  were  happily  ignorant,  and  we  have 
praised  them  for  their  boldness  and  have  invited 
them  to  tea.  Their  guesses  were  entertaining. 
This  book  is  not  composed  of  shrewd  surmises. 
It  is  literal  rather  than  literary;  and  it  may  be 
the  guilty  instead  of  the  guiltless  that  shall  cast 
the  first  stone  at  me.  Let  the  indulgent  reader 
pursue  this  record  to  the  end. 

I  have  the  right  to  deal  openly  and  in  most  per- 
fect frankness  with  myself,  but  I  have  no  right  to 
compromise  others.  So,  therefore,  I  may  be  com- 
pelled occasionally  to  employ  disguises  where 
other  persons  are  concerned.  But  some  of  the 
names  are  actual  and  await  verification  if  any  one 
should  choose  to  take  that  trouble. 


21350S3 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FIRST  LIGHT. 

The  first  light  that  I  ever  beheld  came  through 
a  window  in  a  farm  house  in  West  Virginia,  out 
among  the  hills  not  far  from  Wheeling.  In  re- 
membrance if  not  in  honor  of  an  aunt  I  was 
named  Elinor.  The  first  of  my  recollection  was 
the  act  of  sitting  in  my  father's  lap  by  the  fire. 
My  mother,  a  weak  little  woman,  was  trying  to 
take  me  from  him,  it  seemed,  for  he  was  unsteady 
in  his  chair  and  threatened  to  fall  with  me.  With- 
out further  ado  I  may  say  that  my  father  was  a 
drunkard.  It  may  have  been  a  long  time  after 
this,  but  it  doesn't  seem  more  than  a  day,  when 
I  was  taken  out  among  a  large  number  of  peo- 
ple, into  a  house,  where  a  very  tall  man  got  up 
and  talked  a  long  time,  and  then  some  more  men 
took  up  a  long  black  burden  and  bore  it  away. 
Then  I  heard  mourning  amid  the  strains  of  a  sad 
song.  They  were  burying  my  father.  After  this 
I  went  back  into  darkness  and  remained  a  hun- 

9 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

dred  years,  it  seemed,  and  when  again  I  emerged 
into  the  light  it  was  when  my  mother  had  put  a 
new  frock  on  me  and  was  admiring  my  beauty. 
It  gave  me  a  strange  feeling  of  delight,  and  I 
looked  at  myself  in  the  glass  when  she  held  me 
up ;  and  in  my  play  that  day  I  was  careful  not  to 
soil  my  clothes  for  fear  that  I  might  lose  some  of 
my  attractiveness.  And  now  as  the  days  passed 
I  lived  not  to  play  with  other  girls,  but  to  be 
beautiful,  reaping  my  enjoyment  in  hearing  peo- 
ple refer  to  me  as  "  such  a  pretty  child."  I  had 
not  inherited  a  pleasant  temper,  and  was  inclined 
to  be  cross,  but  when  my  mother  told  me  that  to 
make  faces  would  spoil  my  beauty,  I  was  ready 
to  suffer  in  order  to  smile,  though  I  might  be 
boiling  with  anger.  I  remember  a  pair  of  drop- 
stitch  stockings  that  mother  bought  for  me,  white 
and  silken.  And  when  the  peddler  who  sold  them 
was  gone  I  put  them  on  and  sat  nearly  all  day 
in  the  house,  afraid  that  I  might  soil  them  if  I 
should  venture  out. 

At  a  village  called  West  Liberty  there  was  a 
boarding  school,  and  here  my  education  was  be- 
gun. I  rode  a  pony  that  was  the  envy  of  all  the 
little  girls  and  I  was  proud  and  happy.  My  hair 

10 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  eyes  were  so  black  that  they  nicknamed  me 
Gypsy.  At  first  I  was  resentful,  but  when  I  un- 
derstood that  it  must  mean  something  full  of  a 
wild  sort  of  beauty,  I  was  pleased.  So  was  my 
mother,  and  it  was  by  that  name  that  she  ever 
afterward  addressed  me.  I  remember  that  one 
Sunday  a  man  whom  I  had  seen  a  number  of 
times  walked  home  from  church  with  mother  and 
me.  As  he  was  helping  me  over  the  stile,  where 
we  crossed  the  meadow,  he  wanted  to  take  me 
into  his  arms,  and  I  objected,  not  because  I  did 
not  like  him,  but  for  fear  that  he  would  rumple 
my  dress;  and  I  told  him  as  I  drew  back  that  I 
was  almost  thirteen  and  that  he  must  treat  me 
as  a  young  lady.  Hereupon  my  mother  scowled 
at  me  and  said  that  I  was  not  so  old  as  that.  She 
said  that  I  wasn't  more  than  eleven,  and  I  thought 
it  strange  until  it  dawned  upon  me  that  she  want- 
ed the  man  to  think  her  younger  than  she  was. 
After  this  I  noticed  that  she  took  more  care  of 
herself,  although  she  was  always  fond  of  finery 
and  perfumery.  One  day  when  I  came  home 
from  school  I  saw  mother  and  the  man  walking 
in  the  garden,  and  when  they  thought  that  no  one 
was  looking  they  became  very  "  loving,"  walking 

II 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

hand  in  hand.  When  he  kissed  her  I  laughed, 
and  he  turned  about  and  saw  me.  But  he  wasn't 
frightened,  and  neither  was  my  mother.  She 
called  me  to  her  and  kissed  me  ever  so  many 
times,  and  told  me  that  the  man  was  going  to  be 
my  father.  I  didn't  see  how  this  could  be,  but 
as  they  seemed  to  know  more  about  it  than  I  did, 
I  did  not  dispute  with  them.  The  man  kept  a 
store  several  miles  away,  and  as  I  had  seen  some 
bright  pieces  of  cloth  in  his  place  I  thought  it 
would  be  fortunate  to  have  him  for  a  father. 
Well,  they  were  married,  and  he  was  a  father 
sure  enough — never  was  cross  with  me,  but  al- 
ways told  me  how  pretty  I  was ;  and  he  brought 
me  many  things  to  wear. 

My  Aunt  Elinor  had  married  an  insurance 
man.  They  lived  in  Chicago.  He  died  and  then 
Aunt  kept  a  boarding  house.  Many  a  time  she 
wrote  to  me  and  begged  me  to  visit  her,  but  I 
couldn't  very  well.  There  was  always  money 
enough  to  buy  finery  for  me,  but  never  enough  to 
send  me  away.  But  when  I  had  been  graduated 
from  the  school  I  urged  mother  to  let  me  go 
to  Chicago.  She  then  intimated  that  some  day 
I  might  go  on  a  bridal  tour,  and  this  made  me 

12 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

laugh,  for  I  had  often  told  her  that  there  was 
no  young  man  in  the  neighborhood  that  I  liked 
well  enough  to  marry.  Then  she  spoke  of  a  man 
named  Pague,  a  man  who  had  something  to  do 
with  coal  mines  and  who  was  at  least  ten  years 
older  than  my  step-father. 

"  But  you  don't  surely  mean  that  you  would 
like  for  me  to  marry  him,"  I  said.  "  Why,  he  is 
nearly  old  enough  to  be  my  grandfather." 

"  Age  is  nothing  and  sentiment  is  everything," 
she  replied.  "  He  has  told  me  that  he  loves  you 
devotedly,  and  he  is  a  truthful  man.  Haven't  I 
brought  you  up  with  the  greatest  care  ?  Haven't 
I  done  all  that  I  could  to  make  you  beautiful? 
And  what  is  beauty  worth — what  object  could  it 
be  if  you  are  going  to  throw  it  away  on  a  poor 
man?  You  marry  Mr.  Pague  and  he  will  take 
you  to  the  World's  Fair." 

"  But  I  don't  like  him.  He  chews  tobacco  and 
isn't  neat,  and  he  looks  so  old  and  wrinkled. 
When  I  marry,  the  man  must  be  handsome." 

She  flew  into  a  passion.  When  my  step-father 
came  home  she  told  him  that  I  didn't  have  any 
sense.  He  looked  at  her  a  moment  and  said: 
"  Well,  I  guess  she  is  pretty  much  as  you  have 

13 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

made  her,  except  that  she  has  gone  a  little  further 
than  you  intended.  She  sets  a  higher  price  on 
her  beauty  than  you  expected.  But  as  for  old 
Pague,  I  want  to  tell  you,  madam,  that  he's  an 
old  fool  and  as  close  as  the  bark  on  a  tree." 

In  her  anger  she  flew  at  him  and  declared  that 
he  was  a  brute  and  had  poisoned  my  mind.  She 
shut  herself  up  and  vowed  that  she  would  starve 
rather  than  to  eat  at  the  table  with  either  one  of 
us.  But  he  was  good-tempered  and  smiled  over 
it  all,  and  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  He  was  a  man 
of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence,  had  been  edu- 
cated for  a  doctor,  but  never  having  been  able  to 
make  a  living  at  the  practice,  had  taken  to  a 
commercial  life.  But  even  in  this  he  was  not  a 
success,  for  he  made  an  assignment  not  long 
after  his  quarrel  with  mother,  or  rather  her  quar- 
rel with  him.  Then  he  tried  to  run  the  farm,  and 
he  worked  hard,  but  didn't  know  how  to  manage. 
One  day  old  Pague  called  and  asked  to  see  me, 
and  rather  than  to  have  another  scene  with 
mother  I  went  into  the  parlor  where  he  sat, 
twirling  his  skinny  thumbs.  It  would  have 
seemed  that  to  me  it  were  a  matter  of  indifference 
whether  or  not  I  appeared  well  before  him,  but 

14 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  give  myself  a 
few  touches  before  the  glass.  When  I  entered 
the  room  he  looked  up  with  a  yellow  light  in  his 
old  eyes,  and  told  me  that  he  had  brought  me  a 
present.  Then  he  began  to  unwrap  something 
rolled  in  a  red  handkerchief,  and  after  a  while 
he  discovered  an  old  silver  watch  almost  as  large 
as  a  saucer.  He  said  that  it  had  been  the  property 
of  his  grandfather  and  that  I  was  the  only  one 
on  earth  that  was  entitled  to  it.  I  asked  him  why 
it  was  that  such  an  honor  belonged  to  me,  and  he 
smirked  and  smiled  and  said  that  it  was  because 
he  was  in  love  with  me  and  wanted  me  to  be  his 
wife.  I  was  bold  enough  to  tell  him  that  it  was 
not  generosity  that  prompted  him  to  give  so  valu- 
able a  piece  of  property  to  one  whom  he  was 
going  to  marry,  for  in  that  event  he  could  get  it 
back  again ;  and  he  laughed  like  the  cackle  of  an 
old  hen,  and  said  that  I  was  not  only  beautiful, 
but  witty.  I  heard  my  mother  clearing  her  throat 
in  the  hall-way,  and  I  knew  that  she  meant  this 
as  a  threat  that  it  would  not  be  well  for  me  unless 
I  brought  matters  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 

"  Gypsy,"  he  said,  "  I  am  worth  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars,"  and  at  this  my  mother 

15 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

was  seized  with  so  distressful  a  dryness  of  the 
throat  that  I  thought  she  must  surely  need  help ; 
so  I  went  out  to  her,  but  with  violent  gestures 
she  drove  me  back.  Old  Pague  repeated  the  as- 
sertion that  he  was  worth  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  and  waited  for  me  to  announce  my  sur- 
prise, but  I  said  nothing.  "  That  much  money 
will  always  keep  you  from  want,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  if  I  had  it,"  said  I. 

"  Be  my  wife  and  you  shall  have  it." 

I  wanted  the  money.  I  was  mean  enough  to 
Say  to  myself  that  he  could  not  live  a  great  while 
longer  and  that  then  I  could  travel  and  finally 
marry  to  please  myself.  I  had  been  called  warm 
and  passionate.  But  now  I  was  cold  and  calcu- 
lating. And  I  was  just  about  to  ask  him  if  he 
would  settle  that  amount  on  me  when  my  step- 
father called  me.  He  was  not  in  the  hall-way, 
but  in  the  yard  close  to  the  house.  I  went  out  to 
him.  "  No  matter  what  that  old  wretch  swears 
to,  don't  believe  it,"  he  said.  "  There  is  a  trick 
in  everything  he  does.  He  can  outwit  the 
shrewdest  lawyer  in  the  county." 

My  mother  came  walking  out  toward  us.  She 
was  fuming  with  wrath  and  struggling  to  subdue 

16 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

her  voice  so  as  not  to  be  overheard  by  old  Pague, 
she  said :  "  Samuel,  you  have  nothing  to  do  with 
this  affair.  This  is  my  daughter  and  she  shall 
do  as — I  please." 

"  Why  not  let  her  do  in  this  matter  as  she 
pleases  ?  "  he  replied. 

'  That,  sir,  is  not  to  be  considered.  She  is  my 
daughter." 

"  But  is  she  old  enough  to  marry  ?  Remember 
that  she  wasn't  but  a  little  more  than  eleven  when 
you  and  I  were  married." 

"  It  makes  no  difference  what  she  was  then, 
she  is  past  seventeen  now.  Gypsy,  go  into  the 
house  and  tell  Mr.  Pague  to  settle  that  one  hun- 
dred thousand  on  you." 

My  step-father  put  forth  his  hand  as  if  he 
would  detain  me.  "  Samuel,"  said  my  mother, 
"  if  you  try  to  keep  her  back,  that  ends  it  between 
you  and  me.  You  may  take  the  nothing  that  you 
brought  with  you  and  go — whenever  you  feel  dis- 
posed to  counsel  my  daughter  to  disobey  me." 

My  step-father  turned  about  and  walked  off 
and  I  went  back  into  the  house.  Old  Pague  was 
twirling  his  thumbs.  "  Are  you  quite  sure  that 

17 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

you  will  settle  that  amount  of  money  on  me?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Just  as  sure  as  I  live." 

"  Without  any  trickery?  "  I  inquired. 

He  laughed  and  said  that  where  any  one  loved 
as  deeply  as  he  did  there  could  be  no  trickery. 
"  Before  the  ceremony  is  performed  I  will  sign 
over  to  you  property  to  the  amount  of  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,"  said  he ;  and  I  heard  the 
creaking  of  mother's  shoes  and  I  knew  that  she 
was  in  the  hall-way,  listening. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  few  days  to  think  over 
it  ?  "  I  asked,  and  he  nodded  his  frosted  head  and 
replied : 

"  Yes,  until  a  week  from  to-day — next 
Wednesday." 

He  arose  and  wished  to  seal  the  understanding 
with  a  kiss,  but  I  drew  back  from  him,  and  in 
my  heart  there  arose  a  rebellion,  a  revulsion  such 
as  I  had  never  felt  before.  We  are  all  of  us  born 
with  the  instinct  of  love's  passion.  In  the  imag- 
ined kiss  the  lips  are  ever  warm.  But  here  was 
snow,  and  I  shuddered.  "  How  can  you  wish  to 
marry  me  when  you  know  that  it  is  for  the  money 
that  I  agree,  if  I  ever  do  agree  ?  "  I  said ;  and  he 

18 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

replied :      '  You  will  learn  to  love  me  when  you 
find  how  warm  my  heart  is." 

An  old  brain  may  be  wise,  but  an  old  heart  is 
the  home  of  silliness.  He  took  his  leave  of  me, 
and  when  he  was  clear  of  the  house  mother  took 
me  into  her  arms  and  kissed  me  and  called  me  a 
good  girl.  There  is  one  human  being  that  can  be 
weaker  than  an  old  man — a  vain  mother. 


CHAPTER  II. 

EVERYTHING  ARRANGED. 

The  life  which  is  to  come  begins  with  the 
life  which  was.  I  enter  into  details  not  as  an  ex- 
cuse of  the  folly  which  is  to  come,  but  to  show,  as 
no  doubt  it  often  has  been  shown,  that  the  cradle 
hand  must  have  been  weak  or  strong.  I  believe 
in  heredity,  but  heredity  is  in  the  hands  of  train- 
ing and  is  subservient.  Some  of  the  children  of 
error,  left  upon  doorsteps,  have  turned  out  to  be 
the  strongest  of  men  and  women.  This  life  is 
shaped  by  a  mother's  weakness  or  a  mother's 
strength.  By  mother  I  mean  the  one  who  may 
not  have  given  us  life  in  the  beginning,  but  the 
one  whose  character  forms  ours.  My  mother  was 
a  weak  woman.  She  was  cursed  with  beauty. 
To  her  a  dimple  was  of  more  value  than  an  idea. 
There  was  no  idea  except  the  idea  of  looks.  I 
remember  that  long  after  her  second  marriage 
she  wore  shoes  that  were  too  small  for  her.  Her 
desire  was  to  please  the  eye — to  make  it  envious, 

20 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  in  this  lay  her  happiness.  Her  mind  shaped 
my  own. 

But  I  could  not  agree  to  marry  old  Pague.  On 
the  following  Wednesday  night  he  came  to  our 
house.  It  was  in  early  March  and  sleet  was  driv- 
ing sharp  against  the  window  panes.  All  day 
I  had  been  expecting  him,  and  all  day  I  had  been 
wavering.  Along  about  five  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing a  negro  boy  came  with  a  note  from  him,  tell- 
ing me  that  he  had  been  detained  by  business, 
but  that  he  would  surely  come  before  eight 
o'clock.  Mother  had  been  anxious  and  her  spirits 
had  drooped.  Samuel  had  remained  in  his  gar- 
ret room  engaged  in  some  sort  of  carpenter  work. 
I  could  hear  him  shoving  his  plane,  and  I  fancied 
that  I  heard  the  shavings  slowly  falling  on  the 
floor.  When  the  note  came  from  Pague  mother 
was  greatly  relieved.  She  insisted  upon  dressing 
my  hair,  and  I  sat  before  the  fire  while  she  ten- 
derly plied  the  brush  and  comb.  I  looked  up  into 
her  face  and  saw  that  she  was  happy.  I  had  led 
her  to  believe  that  I  would  accept  the  old  mummy. 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "  I  was  thinking  if  you 
wouldn't  be  just  as  happy  if  you  knew  that  for 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  I  was  to  be  buried 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

away  over  yonder  in  that  old  field  where  my 
father  sleeps." 

She  put  her  cheek  against  mine.  How  little 
of  strength,  how  wanting  in  character  affection 
may  be !  How  brightly  may  shine  a  selfish  love. 
"  Gypsy,  how  can  you  talk  that  way  when  I  love 
you  so?  "  she  said.  "  You  know  that  your  happi- 
ness is  the  aim  of  my  life.  How  can  you  talk  that 
way?" 

"  But  you  aren't  consulting  my  happiness.  I 
would  like  to  love  the  man  I  marry." 

"  Bah,"  she  said,  letting  the  brush  fall  on  the 
floor.  She  stooped  to  get  it  and  I  waited  for  her 
to  say  more,  not  that  I  expected  it  to  be  of  inter- 
est, but  I  waited  from  habit.  "  Love  on  the  part 
of  a  man  is  a  matter  of  a  few  months,"  she  said ; 
and  I  heard  Samuel  slowly  shoving  his  plane. 
"  A  man  is  an  animal,"  she  went  on,  "  and  he 
loves  just  as  an  animal  does." 

"  But  doesn't  a  woman  love  that  way,  too?" 
I  inquired,  glancing  up  into  her  face. 

"  Some  women,  perhaps,"  she  said. 

"  Mother,  what  is  virtue — on  the  part  of  a 
woman  ?  " 

"  Now,  Gypsy,  don't  be  foolish." 

22 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  I  want  to  know." 

"Well,  don't  you  know?" 

"  How  should  I  know?  Who  has  ever  taught 
me  ?  If  beauty  is  everything,  why  then  to  satisfy 
the  demands  of  beauty  is  virtue,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

"  But  mother,  I  want  to  know  what  I'm  talking 
about.  What  is  virtue  ?  " 

"  It  is  marrying  some  one  and — behaving  your- 
self." 

"  How  behaving?  Staying  at  home  while  your 
husband  is  away — drunk  ?  " 

"  Now,  Gypsy,  who  said  anything  about 
drunk?" 

"  But  my  father  was  a  drunkard.  And  were 
you  virtuous  ?  " 

She  dropped  both  the  brush  and  the  comb.  She 
did  not  stoop  to  recover  them,  and  I  took  them 
off  the  floor  and  handed  them  to  her.  She 
thought  me  silly,  but  I  was  striving  to  be  wise. 
After  a  time  she  spoke  again. 

"  No  one  can  say  anything  against  my  char- 
acter," she  said. 

"  But  what  do  you  understand  as  character  ? 
It  surely  isn't  marrying  an  old  man  for  his  money. 

23 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

You  say  that  a  man  loves  like  an  animal.  Per- 
haps I  do,  too.  We  don't  love  with  our  minds, 
but  with  our  hearts — our  bodies.  And  if  we  love 
one,  in  that  way,  it  must  be  virtue.  If  I  give 
myself  to  a  man  whom  I  do  not  love,  that  cannot 
be  virtue — not  as  virtuous  as  the  animals." 

"  I  see  that  Samuel  has  been  talking  to  you — 
and  you  have  been  reading  those  good-for-noth- 
ing books.  Such  trash  is  the  ruination  of  a  girl's 
mind." 

.  "  But  the  books  I  have  been  reading  were  writ- 
ten by  women." 

"  Ugly  women,"  said  mother.  She  leaned  over 
me  and  laughed.  Ah,  what  a  contempt  she  had 
for  plainness.  How  she  sighed  over  her  misfor- 
tunes— which  were  that  she  had  married  poor 
men  both  times.  She  condemned  me  for  reading 
books  written  by  ugly  women.  She  found  her 
greatest 'pleasure  in  looking  at  the  fashion  plates 
of  the  worn  magazines  that  lay  about  the  house. 

"  He  will  soon  be  here,"  she  said  as  she  finished 
her  work  and  stood  off  to  admire  me.  "  Ah,  think 
what  a  great  thing  it  will  be  to  have  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  and  to  travel;  and  after  a 
while—" 

24 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  When  he  is  dead,"  I  put  in. 

"  Yes,  when  he  is  dead,"  she  said  without  the 
slightest  embarrassment,  "  you  and  I  will  go 
abroad  and  see  some  of  the  grand  things  of  this 
earth.  I  wonder  if  that  clock  is  right.  Nearly 
eight.  He  ought  to  be  here  soon.  Hush,  I  think 
I  hear  his  horse." 

It  was  his  horse.  Mother  opened  the  door  and 
stood  there,  holding  the  lamp.  Mr.  Pague  came 
in,  stamping  his  feet.  He  smiled  upon  me,  as  he 
and  I  followed  mother,  who  walked  on  into  the 
parlor,  carrying  the  light.  In  the  parlor  the  fire 
had  begun  to  burn  well,  and  the  room  was  cheer- 
ful, with  the  sleet  still  cutting  at  the  windows. 
Mother  lighted  the  hanging  lamp  and  went  out, 
carrying  the  hand  lamp  with  her ;  and  I  "  heard  " 
her  standing  in  the  hall-way;  she  did  not  seem 
to  move  or  to  make  any  noise,  but  I  heard  her  in 
her  silence,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  waiting  for 
the  words  of  encouragement.  Pague  warmed 
himself  before  the  fire,  turning  his  great  feet  this 
way  and  that ;  he  rubbed  his  hands  and  declared 
that  it  was  a  bad  night  on  dumb  cattle.  I  could 
hear  mother  in  her  silence,  standing  in  the  hall. 

25 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

She  had  put  out  her  lamp,  or  had  taken  it  into  the 
sitting  room  and  returned. 

"  Well,"  said  Pague,  and  then  I  heard  mother's 
shoes  creak.  She  was  moving  closer  to  the  door. 
I  waited,  but  after  saying  "  well "  Pague  was 
silent,  looking  at  me  as  if  he  expected  me  to  fin- 
ish the  sentence  for  him. 

"  I  have  thought  over  your  proposition,"  said  I. 

He  thanked  me  and  warmed  his  hands  by  the 
fire.  "  And  what  have  you  decided  ?  " 

"  That  I  will  marry  you." 

"  I  thank  you.  Oh,  you  are  sensible  as  well  as 
beautiful.  How  soon  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  you  feel  disposed  to  settle  the 
property  on  me." 

"  That  can  be  done  at  once,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  Would  you  like  to  live  in  Wheeling?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  should  prefer  to  live  there  un- 
less he  might  desire  some  larger  city.  He  said 
that  it  did  not  make  so  much  difference  where 
he  lived,  so  long  as  he  lived  with  me.  "  Silence  " 
ceased  to  come  in  from  the  hall-way  and  I  knew 
that  mother  had  gone  happy  to  her  room.  He 
talked  a  long  time  and  I  thought  that  he  never 
would  go.  He  told  me  about  his  business  affairs, 

26 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  though  he  intended  that  I  should  think  him 
broad,  yet  I  could  not  help  but  see  him  narrow 
and  mean.  When  at  last  he  arose  to  go  he  said 
that  if  I  did  not  feel  disposed  to  enter  into  the 
business  arrangements,  that  part  of  our  "  love  af- 
fair "  could  be  transacted  by  my  mother.  I  knew 
well  that  she  would  see  to  it  and  in  this  arrange- 
ment I  felt  perfectly  safe.  Again  he  wanted  to 
kiss  me,  but  I  simply  could  not  let  him  touch  my 
lips  with  his  corn  husks,  and  I  drew  away  from 
him,  but  he  came  near  as  I  was  bidding  him  good 
night  at  the  door  and  put  his  arm  about  me,  and 
I  shuddered.  But  I  was  determined  to  keep  my 
part  of  the  contract.  Mother  had  been  waiting 
for  him  to  go,  and  when  he  was  gone,  she  flew 
to  me  and  wept  over  me.  I  heard  Samuel  coming 
down  the  stairs.  He  came  into  the  sitting  room 
and  sat  down,  looking  tired ;  and  after  a  time  he 
asked  me  if  everything  had  been  settled.  I  looked 
toward  mother  and  Samuel  nodded  his  head, 
knowing  that  the  contract  was  as  good  as  signed. 

"  When  is  it  to  be  ?  "  he  inquired,  and  I  looked 
at  mother. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  putting  it  off?  "  she  said. 

"  None  that  I  can  see,"  said  Samuel.    "  When 

27 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

we  have  decided  to  commit  suicide,  why,  the  soon- 
er the  better." 

"  Fortunately,  you  have  nothing  to  do  with 
these  arrangements,"  said  mother;  and  after  he 
had  sat  for  a  time  in  silence,  he  said  to  mother: 
"  And  you  are  going  to  live  with  her,  I  suppose." 

"  Live  with  her  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  surely  don't  care  to  live  here 
alone." 

"  Still  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  mean  that  as  soon  as  she  marries  that  old 
fool  I'll  leave  this  house,  never  to  return." 

She  looked  at  him  with  no  love  in  her  eyes  and 
he  sat  there  in  silence,  waiting  for  me  to  say 
something,  I  supposed.  But  now  I  saw  myself 
by  so  wretched  a  light  that  I  didn't  know  what 
to  say.  I  didn't  say  anything.  I  went  to  my 
room,  leaving  them  to  sit  there  and  stare  at  each 
other.  But  when  I  came  down  the  next  morning 
they  both  seemed  to  be  in  good  humor.  That  day 
mother  went  with  Pague  to  the  court  house  and 
when  she  returned  she  said  that  everything  had 
been  arranged. 


28 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONGRATULATED   HER. 

Among  my  girl  friends  was  Olive  Peyton.  We 
were  nearly  of  the  same  age,  and  at  school  we 
had  been  classmates.  In  style  we  were  directly 
opposite,  and  this  was  perhaps  the  reason  that  we 
were  so  close  in  friendship.  She  was  redheaded 
and  blue-eyed,  lively  and  of  a  sweet  disposition. 
But  she,  too,  had  been  brought  up  to  believe  that 
all  of  a  woman's  charm  and  especially  all  of  her 
power  in  this  life  centered  in  her  looks.  She  was 
just  miserable  enough  at  home  to  be  happy  in 
talking  about  it  when  she  was  away.  Her  mother 
had  been  my  mother's  rival  for  the  "  belleship  " 
of  the  county,  and  it  was  too  much  to  expect  that 
they  could  ever  be  friends.  But  there  was  never 
any  objection  raised  against  the  intimacy  that  ex- 
isted between  Olive  and  me.  And  so,  when  my 
marriage  had  been  settled  upon  I  hastened  over 
to  tell  her.  The  Peytons  lived  in  an  old  brick 
house,  red  amid  the  green  cedars.  Before  the 

29 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

war  it  had  been  quite  a  lordly  place,  and  there 
were  negro  cabins  in  the  yard.  Peyton  was  a 
tobacco  buyer  and  was  sometimes  away  from 
home,  and  I  wished  that  he  was  on  this  occasion, 
and  such  proved  to  be  the  case.  He  had  a  way 
of  looking  at  me  that  I  didn't  quite  understand. 
But  he  must  have  liked  me,  for  I  remember  that 
once  he  said  that  if  his  wife  should  die  he  would 
choose  me  as  her  successor.  He  was  joking,  of 
course,  but  he  looked  at  me  in  a  queer  way.  Olive 
told  me  that  there  had  been  a  scandal  in  her 
father's  life,  and  that  her  mother  had  never  quite 
forgiven  him.  You  may  think  that  it  was  a  bad 
state  of  affairs  for  so  quiet  a  country  neighbor- 
hood, and  perhaps  it  was.  I  am  simply  giving  the 
facts  as  I  remember  them — writing  the  one  book 
which  they  say  is  the  inheritance  of  every  man 
and  especially  of  every  woman. 

From  her  window  Olive  saw  me  coming  and 
ran  out  to  meet  me.  She  had  something  to  tell 
me  about  a  young  man  that  was  of  late  coming 
to  see  her.  The  parents  objected  to  him  and  this 
sweetened  the  affair.  The  young  people  had  es- 
tablished a  postoffice  in  a  hollow  tree.  They  wrote 
to  each  other  several  times  a  day.  Olive  had  just 

30 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

received  a  letter,  and  what  made  it  more  interest- 
ing, her  mother  suspected  that  she  had  it.  The 
young  man  was  said  to  be  wild.  That  was  de- 
licious. He  had  been  drunk  in  the  village,  and 
this  gave  Olive  something  to  think  about  and  to 
grieve  over  in  the  evening  when  the  bats  were 
flying  through  the  dun  air.  We  kissed  each 
other,  and  how  warm  and  soft  were  her  lips.  I 
thought  of  old  Pague's  corn  husks.  In  her  room 
we  had  talked  over  her  postoffice,  and  she  had 
read  me  her  letter  before  I  told  her  of  my  ap- 
proaching marriage.  No  matter  how  I  turned  it 
about  or  mused  over  it  I  couldn't  make  it  roman- 
tic, and  I  found  embarrassment  in  getting  down 
to  it. 

"  And  now,  dear,"  she  said,  "  what  have  you 
got  to  tell  me?" 

She  knew  that  something  was  on  my  mind.  I 
must  have  shown  it.  I  told  her  finally,  and  she 
hugged  me  or  rather  hugged  at  me,  for  she  knew 
old  Pague  and  couldn't  work  up  much  enthusi- 
asm. 

"  But  are  you  really  going  to  marry  him?  "  she 
asked. 

31 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"Why,  yes;  it  has  been  settled,  don't  you 
know?" 

"  I  know,  dear,  but  such  things  are  never  set- 
tled— until  they  are ;  and  then  it  is  too  late.  Your 
mother  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself." 

We  often  talked  about  our  mothers,  and  as  I 
look  back  now  I  can't  help  feeling  that  we  had 
a  cause,  although  it  must  have  been  wrong.  What 
a  difference  a  real  woman  would  have  made  in 
our  lives. 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  ought,"  I  replied. 

"  She  is  going  to  sell  you  just  as  our  grand- 
fathers did  their  negroes." 

"  Yes,  just  the  same." 

"  Except  that  you  give  your  consent,"  said 
Olive. 

"  Yes,  to  keep  from  having  trouble.  But  no 
matter  what  I  do  there  will  be  trouble.  Father 
threatens  to  leave  home  and  never  to  come  back  if 
I  marry  the  old  fool." 

"Gypsy,"  she  said,  "why  don't  you  run 
away?  " 

"Why,  what  have  I  to  run  with,  and  where 
have  I  to  run  to?" 

32 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  I'd  die  before  I'd  marry  that  old  wretch/' 
she  said.  "  Why,  he's  disgusting." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  But  he  might  not  live 
long." 

She  was  beautiful  and  she  was  heartless  in  a 
way.  Man  was  our  natural  prey.  In  some  vague 
sort  of  fashion  we  had  a  notion  of  motherhood. 
In  health  and  in  full  blood  we  knew  the  meaning 
of  love,  even  if  it  were  as  animals  knew  it,  but 
honor  was  lacking.  I  say  it  to  my  shame,  but 
I  did  not  know  the  real  meaning  of  the  word 
honor.  I  knew  that  honesty  meant  not  to  steal, 
but  I  did  not  know  that  to  sell  myself,  even  though 
the  sale  were  attended  by  a  ceremony,  was  just  as 
much  of  a  fall  from  virtue  as  it  would  have  been 
for  bread  without  the  ceremony.  If  ceremony 
makes  virtue,  then  God  help  us.  The  women 
whom  I  knew  were  not  happy  with  their  hus- 
bands. Was  marriage  really  a  failure?  If  so, 
one  failure  was  as  bad  as  another,  and  an  old 
failure  might  be  no  worse  than  one  of  a  younger 
brand.  These  thoughts  dragged  through  my 
mind  as  I  talked  to  Olive.  And  yet,  so  far  as 
either  of  us  knew,  we  were  pure.  But  real  purity 
does  not  mean  bodily  cleanliness  only.  It  means 

33 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cleanliness  of  mind,  nobility  of  thought;  but  of 
this  we  knew  nothing.  The  guiding  hand  of  vir- 
tue had  not  trained  our  lives.  You  may  think 
that  I  am  preaching.  But  wait  before  pronounc- 
ing judgment  and  see  if  I  have  not  a  cause.  This 
book  is  written  for  mothers,  as  well  as  for  girls. 

Olive  was  not  shocked  when  I  said  that  the 
old  man  might  not  live  long.  Between  our  two 
souls  there  could  be  no  disguise.  So,  why  at- 
tempt it?" 

"  He  might  not  live  long,  and  yet  too  long," 
she  said.  "  You  remember  our  classmate."  She 
mentioned  the  name  of  a  girl  whom  we  both  had 
loved.  "  She  married  an  old  man  who  was 
thought  to  be  rich.  He  died  in  debt  and  left  her 
with  three  children."  This  set  me  to  thinking. 
In  a  way  we  were  innocent,  but  not  wholly  ig- 
norant. 

"  Horrible,"  I  said.    "  But  what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Marry  some  one  of  the  boys." 

'  There  is  not  one  that  is  worth  picking  up  out 
of  the  road." 

She  knew  that  this  was  almost  true.  The 
young  men  as  they  grew  up  went  away  to  the 
West,  those  who  were  anything  to  speak  of;  and 

34 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

besides  there  was  no  romance  about  a  fellow  who 
had  all  his  life  lived  in  one  place.  Olive's  young 
man  had  come  from  old  Virginia  and  this  alone 
freed  him  from  the  charge  of  unprogressive  dull- 
ness. But  the  others  were  progressively  dull. 
They  became  duller  as  the  days  passed,  and  to 
think  of  marrying  one  of  them  was  simply  out  of 
all  sensible  question. 

We  heard  Olive's  mother  coming  up  the  stairs 
and  changed  the  subject.  Mrs.  Peyton  asked 
after  my  mother  and  wondered  why  she  had  not 
been  over  to  see  her,  and  finally  she  asked  me  if 
it  were  true  that  Mr.  Pague  was  coming  to  see 
me.  Then,  without  further  ado,  I  told  her  my 
story  and  she  smiled  upon  me  and  said  that  it  was 
a  good  match.  "  He  is  a  very  rich  man,  my  dear," 
she  said,  "  and  I  am  glad  that  your  mother  had 
the  good  sense  to  insist.  I  have  been  a  girl  my- 
self, and  I  know  that  girls  don't  know  what's 
good  for  them." 

"  But  wasn't  there  such  a  thing  as  sentiment 
when  you  were  a  girl  ?  "  I  inquired,  and  she 
looked  surprised.  "  Sentiment !  Why,  of  course, 
and  there's  sentiment  now.  Didn't  you  just  tell 

35 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

me  that  you  were  going  to  be  married?     And 
what  is  that  but  sentiment  ?  " 

"  But  is  it  sentiment  if  I  don't  love  him?  " 
"  Love  him !  "  And  now  she  was  more  aston- 
ished than  before.  "  How  could  it  be  possible 
that  you  should  not  love  him  when  he  is  to  settle 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  you?  Now  look 
around  this  neighborhood  at  the  different  women 
and  you  will  find  that  all  of  them  married  for 
what  they  thought  was  love.  And  what  did  it 
amount  to?  Nothing — worry  and  hard  work. 
The  sort  of  love  that  you  are  thinking  about  is  a 
disease.  Let  it  alone  and  it  cures  itself,  but  at- 
tempt to  cure  it  with  marriage,  and  misery  is  al- 
most certain  to  follow.  I  don't  believe  there  ever 
was  a  girl  who  refused  to  marry  a  rich  man  that 
didn't  at  some  time  regret  it.  The  love  that  the 
poor  man  gives  does  not  compensate.  And  your 
love  for  him  means  slavery.  Why  is  it  that  all 
of  the  women  who  married  for  old  fashioned  love 
want  their  daughters  to  marry  rich ;  where  is  the 
father  that  wants  his  son  to  marry  a  poor  girl? 
He  actually  questions  the  respectability  of  the 
poor  girl.  If  it  were  Olive  I  would  see  that  she 
married  him,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

36 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Well,  I  just  wouldn't,"  Olive  spoke  up. 

Mrs.  Peyton  turned  to  me  and  said:  "  Don't 
let  what  she  says  have  any  weight  with  you.  You 
marry  Mr.  Pague  and  amount  to  something." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  way  out  of  it,  and  I  went 
home  in  a  depressed  state  of  mind.  My  mother 
asked  me  what  Mrs.  Peyton  had  said,  and  when 
I  had  told  her  she  remarked :  "  She's  got  more 
sense  than  I  thought  she  had." 

On  the  following  Sunday  Pague  came  to  our 
house  and  it  seemed  that  he  would  never  go  away 
again.  He  talked  about  coal  mines  and  labor 
troubles  and  hard  times,  but  would  occasionally 
brighten  up  with  the  remark  that  I  should  never 
want  for  anything.  This  led  me  to  believe  that 
he  was  not  sure  of  his  fortune,  and  when  he  was 
gone  I  spoke  to  mother  about  it,  but  she  laughed 
in  a  cunning  way  and  said  that  she  was  sure  of 
his  wealth. 

The  days  passed  and  they  were  making  my 
wedding  clothes.  The  girls  of  the  neighborhood 
made  no  secret  of  their  sympathy  for  me,  but  the 
married  women  were  always  ready  with  their 
congratulations.  One  day  while  mother  was  busy 
with  a  dressmaker,  Samuel  found  an  opportunity 

37 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

to  talk  to  me.  She  kept  a  close  watch  on  him, 
never  permitting  us  to  be  alone ;  but  on  this  occa- 
sion she  was  taken  off  her  guard.  The  weather 
had  turned  warm  and  we  were  out  in  the  yard. 
"  And  you  are  really  going  to  marry  him, 
Gypsy?  "  he  said. 

"  I  don't  see  any  way  out  of  it,"  I  replied. 

"  But  there  is  a  way  out  of  it.  When  your 
clothes  are  done,  take  them  and  steal  away  to  your 
aunt  in  Chicago." 

His  words  sent  a  thrill  through  me.  "  You 
would  be  simply  taking  what  belongs  to  you,"  he 
said.  "  You  have  your  aunt's  address.  You  want 
to  visit  the  Fair,  and  you  can  remain  in  Chicago 
during  the  entire  time.  Your  mother  is  insane 
on  the  subject  of  money.  She  would  have  you 
believe  that  all  other  women  are  the  same  way, 
but  it  is  not  true.  There  are  millions  of  women 
who  would  not  sell  themselves  to  save  their  lives. 
I  will  give  you  enough  to  pay  your  fare  to  Chi- 
cago." 

I  think  that  it  might  have  been  easy  enough 
to  dismiss  his  words  had  not  Pague  come  to  see 
me  that  night.  His  very  presence  was  an  out- 
rage upon  my  modesty.  He  tried  to  be  senti- 

38 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

mental  and  was  silly.    It  was  said  that  his  wife 
had  worked  herself  to  death,  and  I  asked  him 
about  her;  and  he  said  that  she  was  an  ignorant 
though  a  good  woman  and  had  never  been  a 
companion  to  him.    I  wondered  why  he  spoke  of 
her  ignorance,  since  his  own  mind  had  been  so 
dwarfed;  but  I  have  since  then  noticed  that  if  a 
man  has  saved  his  money,  when  even  in  doing 
so  he  may  have  denied  himself  the  necessities  of 
life,  he  thinks  that  it  was  an  intelligence  or  some 
superiority  of  mind  that  did  it.     Pague  wanted 
me  to  go  to  church  with  him  that  night,  and  as 
my   mother    insisted,    I    went.       The    minister 
preached  on  love;  said  that  God  was  love,  and 
after  the  sermon  congratulated  me  on  my  ap- 
proaching marriage.    Everybody  knew  of  it,  and 
I  blushed  until  it  seemed  that  I  had  no  more  mod- 
esty left  to  burn  up.     The  church  was  not  far 
from  our  house  and  we  walked,  mother  behind  us, 
happy,  too,  I  felt,  for  occasionally    she    would 
break  forth  into  song.    Ah,  some  hearts  can  sing 
over  a  coffin  if  there  were  gold  in  it.     She  left 
us  standing  at  the  gate — hurried  into  the  house 
as  if  to  give  Pague  an  opportunity  to  kiss  me; 
and  he  tried  to,  but  I  was  not  yet  quite  ready  to 

39 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

surrender  all  sense  of  shame.  But  I  suffered  him 
to  put  his  arm  about  me,  and  he  pressed  me  up 
close  to  him,  and  it  was  the  disgust  of  this  mo- 
ment that  determined  me  to  act  upon  the  advice 
given  by  Samuel. 

But  how  was  I  to  get  my  trunk  away  from  the 
house  ?  It  was  easy  enough  to  go  into  Wheeling, 
on  a  pretense  of  wanting  to  buy  something,  but 
that  was  a  settlement  of  only  a  part  of  the  diffi- 
culty. I  found  occasion  to  speak  to  Samuel,  and 
his  expression  was  that  he  was  "  up  a  stump." 
But  fortune  or  misfortune  favored  me.  Mother 
was  called  over  to  visit  a  woman  who  was  not 
expected  to  live,  and  this  was  my  opportunity. 
Samuel  engaged  a  negro  with  an  express  wagon 
and  I  left  home  about  noon-time.  That  night  I 
slept  on  a  train  bound  for  the  West. 


40 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ANOTHER  OLD  MAN. 

Aunt  Elinor  was  my  father's  sister.  Her  let- 
ters to  me  had  always  been  kind,  and  I  knew  that 
she  wanted  me  to  visit  her,  for  she  had  repeatedly 
urged  me  to  come,  but  I  could  not  settle  in  my 
mind  as  to  how  she  would  receive  me  now,  a  rebel 
and  a  runaway ;  but  I  knew  that  she  must  applaud 
me  when  she  knew  that  I  had  too  much  sentiment 
to  sell  myself  to  a  disgusting  old  man.  I  had 
never  been  more  than  a  few  miles  from  home, 
and  now  to  be  rushing  alone  toward  a  world  new 
and  dangerous  was  full  of  a  most  delicious  ad- 
venture. The  thought  of  going  for  the  first  time 
into  a  great  city  had  no  terror  for  me,  such  as  in 
books  had  been  pictured  in  the  minds  of  defense- 
less maidens.  It  was  somewhat  of  a  call  upon 
modesty  to  go  to  bed  in  a  sleeping  car,  and  I  lay 
down  with  all  my  clothes  on.  I  was  stared  at  by 
men  and  rather  haughtily  gazed  at  by  women, 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

but  this  was  a  part  of  my  education  and  caused 
me  no  uneasiness. 

Aunt  Elinor's  boarding  house  was  in  Ellis  ave- 
nue, not  far  from  the  World's  Fair  grounds.  And 
just  before  reaching  Chicago  I  gave  my  brass 
check  to  an  omnibus  man  and  bought  a  ticket 
that  entitled  me  to  a  ride  in  his  conveyance.  The 
month  was  June  and  the  weather  seemed  raw 
to  me.  I  hardly  know  what  my  impressions  were 
as  I  was  driven  through  the  streets.  I  had  a 
dread  of  being  thought  from  the  country  and  I 
was  afraid  to  look  about  me.  An  old  lady  in  the 
'bus  asked  me  if  I  expected  to  remain  long  in  the 
city,  and  I  told  her  that  I  was  just  returning  home 
from  boarding  school,  that  I  lived  in  Chicago. 
So  I  entered  the  town  with  a  lie. 

As  I  had  not  informed  Aunt  Elinor  of  my  in- 
tention to  come  so  soon,  she  was  taken  completely 
by  surprise.  She  gave  me  a  real  welcome,  but 
this  was  not  of  nearly  so  much  moment  as  the 
look  of  surprise  with  which  she  regarded  me.  I 
knew  that  she  was  struck  with  my  appearance, 
and  with  a  woman,  even  among  women,  this  is 
always  the  first  victory.  She  said  that  she  was 
so  sorry  that  my  mother  had  not  come  with  me, 

42 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  I  knew  that  she  was  glad.  It  was  about 
noon-time  when  I  arrived,  and  soon,  at  the  table, 
I  was  introduced  to  a  number  of  people.  It  was 
a  pleasure  whenever  my  aunt  emphasized  the  fact 
that  I  was  her  only  niece.  I  told  her  that  many 
of  the  people  in  our  neighborhood  said  that  I 
resembled  her  when  she  was  of  my  age.  She  said 
that  she  thought  herself  that  a  resemblance  could 
be  traced.  Her  eyes  were  blue  and  mine  black. 
A  chilling  rain  fell  during  the  afternoon;  and 
so,  instead  of  going  at  once  to  the  Fair,  which  I 
longed  to  do,  I  was  forced  to  remain  within  doors. 
The  house  was  rather  old  fashioned  and  there 
was  a  grate  in  my  room.  My  aunt  sat  with  me 
and  talked  for  a  long  time,  mainly  about  her 
troubles.  She  had  thought  that  her  husband  was 
rich,  but  he  had  died  poor,  leaving  her  to  shift 
for  herself.  I  remarked  that  she  seemed  to  be 
shifting  well,  and  she  sighed  and  said  that  years 
ago  she  could  have  married  a  man  of  unques- 
tioned fortune.  And  thus  came  my  opportunity 
to  tell  her  what  I  had  done.  I  expected  her  to 
take  me  into  her  arms  and  commend  me  for  my 
bravery,  but  she  didn't;  she  said  that  I  had  un- 

43 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

doubtedly  thrown  away  a  fine  chance  to  be  some- 
thing in  the  world. 

"  But  how  could  I  be  anything  as  the  wife  of 
that  old  man?" 

She  looked  at  me  as  if  she  pitied  my  ignor- 
ance. "  Old  men  don't  live  always,"  she  said.  And 
so  there  it  was  again,  speculating  upon  death. 
She  said  that  I  could  have  come  on  my  bridal 
tour  and  remained  during  the  entire  time  of  the 
Fair.  I  wondered  if  this  were  an  insinuation  that 
I  could  not  remain  long  at  her  house. 

That  night  I  wrote  to  my  mother  and  as  nearly 
as  I  could,  tearfully  begged  her  forgiveness.  Just 
before  I  had  sealed  the  letter  Aunt  came  into  the 
room,  and,  knowing  what  I  was  about,  requested 
me  to  add  a  few  lines  for  her.  I  did  so,  and  they 
were  not  complimentary  to  my  judgment  in  leav- 
ing home.  "  And  this  is  not  all  you  ought  to 
write,"  she  said.  "  Take  my  advice  and  write  to 
Mr.  Pague  and  request  him  to  meet  you  here,  at 
my  house."  I  begged  her  hard  to  exempt  me 
from  this  sore  task,  and  as  she  was  not  wholly 
devoid  of  heart,  she  consented.  But  she  would 
not  give  in  that  I  was  right.  "  It  is  a  girl's  duty 
to  herself  to  make  the  most  of  her  beauty,"  she 

44 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

said,  gazing  into  the  fire  as  if  she  were  viewing 
the  ashes  of  a  lost  opportunity.  "  If  nature  has 
made  her  attractive  it  was  for  a  purpose.  If  a 
girl  is  willing  to  give  her  youth  and  her  beauty 
in  exchange  for  money,  there  is  no  robbery." 

"  Except  perhaps  to  herself,"  I  said. 

"  Herself !  "  she  emphasized.  "  My  dear, 
beauty  has  always  been  marketable.  Men  know 
this — they  expect  it.  Haven't  we  the  example  of 
the  very  best  society  ?  Don't  rich  girls  buy  titles  ? 
Don't  they  give  their  money  and  their  physical 
charms  to  decrepit  old  dukes  ?  " 

"  Then  there  is  no  such  thing  as  virtue,"  said  I. 

"  Without  money  ?  Very  little,"  she  replied, 
without  a  ruffle  of  countenance.  "  What  you 
know  as  virtue  lives  in  romances  and  on  the  stage. 
It  lives  until  the  book  is  closed  or  until  the  cur- 
tain is  rung  down  on  the  last  act.  Take  this  big 
town,  supposed  to  be  the  very  center  of  American 
democracy.  And  what  do  you  find?  Nine- 
tenths  of  the  mothers  hunting  money  for  their 
daughters.  Oh,  neither  age  nor  disease  cuts  any 
figure.  If  a  girl  marries  for  money  she  has  made 
a  good  match.  Her  friends  never  think  of  con- 
demning her.  They  know  that  she  has  done  well. 

45 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

But  let  her  marry  poor  and  they  pity  her.  Take 
the  newspapers.  What  do  you  find?  The  pic- 
tures of  girls  who  have  been  bought." 

"  But  why  shouldn't  I  agree  to  sell  myself  for 
a  certain  length  of  time  ?  "  said  I,  and  then  I 
added :  "  If  the  whole  world  has  agreed  to  pros- 
titution, why  not  be  more  virtuous  than  the  rest 
of  mankind  and  agree  to  live  with  a  man,  say  for 
five  or  ten  months.  I  have  read  that  society  was 
bad,  but  I  couldn't  conceive  that  it  was  wholly 
diseased.  I  am  not  more  romantic  than  the  most 
of  young  women.  In  fact,  I  am  hardly  romantic 
at  all.  I  am  possessed  of  plain,  common  sense, 
and  I  am  constantly  called  upon  to  put  it  aside 
and  acknowledge  myself  a  legitimate  prey  of  man. 
It  seems  that  the  world  has  gone  sex  mad.  Even 
at  school  we  were  not  exactly  taught  that  money 
was  everything,  but  in  a  way  we  were  constantly 
shown  that  it  was.  And  the  highest  province  of 
money  is  to  buy  bodies  and  to  permit  the  souls 
to  wander  astray." 

I  had  signed  my  letters  Gypsy  when  I  wrote 
to  my  Aunt,  thoughtlessly  at  first,  and,  although 
I  was  named  for  her  she  rather  liked  the  nick- 
name, it  fitted  so  well;  and  she  said  to  me: 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Gypsy,  I  don't  think  that  what  reading  you  have 
done  has  been  of  the  best.  You  have  hunted  for 
opinions  when  you  ought  to  have  sought  cultiva- 
tion. Men  don't  want  women  with  opinions.  I 
know  that  my  opinions  have  hurt  me.  Oh,  before 
I  forget  it,  let  me  tell  you  about  the  Judge  I  intro- 
duced you  to.  He  is  from  Iowa  and  is  a  widower, 
and  is  worth  all  kinds  of  money." 

I  knew  that  she  had  set  her  cap  for  him  and 
had  failed.  I  waited  for  her  to  proceed.  "  I  saw 
him  looking  at  you  and  I  know  that  you  could 
win  him." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  old  gentleman  with  gray 
beard  and  a  bald  head  ?  " 

"  Well,  his  beard  is  not  black,  and  he  hasn't 
any  too  much  hair.  Yes,  that's  the  one  I  mean. 
His  daughter  was  here  last  week.  She  is  going 
to  marry  a  rich  lumberman  in  Michigan." 

"An  old  man?" 

"Well,  yes,  rather,  a  widower.  The  Judge 
has  retired  from  the  bench  and  is  devoting  him- 
self to  the  enjoyment  of  life.  His  health  is  not 
very  good."  She  looked  at  me  as  she  said  this, 
as  if  it  were  a  great  encouragement  to  me. 

The  next  day  was  bright  with  the  sun  and  the 

47 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

air  was  warm.  At  the  breakfast  table  the  Judge 
devoted  himself  to  me.  He  said  that  he  would 
like  the  honor  of  giving  me  my  first  view  of  the 
Fair,  and  I  consented  to  go  with  him.  He  was 
exceedingly  polite  and  well-bred ;  was  not  learned 
enough  to  be  a  bore,  and  though  he  talked  about 
himself  the  most  of  the  time,  yet  what  he  said 
was  rather  interesting.  We  took  a  carriage  to 
the  Fair  grounds.  And  now  for  the  first  time  I 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  great  world  that  had  always 
lain  so  far  beyond  my  vision.  It  was  a  dazzle 
and  a  bewilderment,  refinement  and  art  yielding 
to  the  power  of  money.  After  all,  my  broad- 
minded  aunt  and  my  narrow-minded  mother  were 
both  of  them  right.  Money  was  the  world — life ; 
and  without  it  there  could  be  nothing.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  I  had  heard  any  real  music, 
and  my  blood  danced  like  sunlight  on  the  water 
and  my  heart  fluttered  in  its  efforts  to  arise  and 
fly  away.  In  a  gondola  I  sat  with  the  Judge,  and 
as  we  skimmed  the  lagoon,  this  swallow  from 
Venice,  he  talked  incessantly,  but  I  heard  him  not, 
only  his  mumble,  not  his  words ;  and  when  came 
the  time  to  go  to  luncheon,  it  was  a  rude  shock 
to  me  thus  again  to  step  upon  the  earth  where 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

money  was  king,  crowned  every  day  and  every 
night.  After  luncheon  we  went  up  that  strange 
thoroughfare  of  all  nations  and  of  all  thievery, 
the  Midway,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  crossed  the 
sea  and  was  living  in  a  rude  age  of  the  world. 
Sometimes  I  felt  the  blush-waves  flowing  over 
me,  at  the  sight  of  Turkish  girls  dancing,  and  I 
was  ashamed  to  look  at  the  Judge;  but  he  was 
not  ashamed,  for  he  asked  me  how  I  liked  them, 
and  when  I  replied  that  I  thought  them  disgust- 
ing, he  remarked  that  he  thought  so  too.  Several 
times  during  the  afternoon  he  referred  to  them, 
and  laughingly  asked  me  if  I  desired  to  see  them 
again,  and  when  most  emphatically  I  told  him  no, 
he  said  that  he  didn't  either. 

That  night  at  home  there  was  music  in  the 
parlor,  and  the  Judge  sent  out  and  bought  cham- 
pagne, the  first  I  had  ever  seen.  When  they  told 
me  that  it  was  wine  I  refused  to  drink  of  it,  but 
my  aunt  emphasized  the  word  champagne,  and 
said  that  all  society  people  drank  it.  Then  I  took 
a  glass  and  drank,  and  bright  thoughts  seemed 
to  fly  through  my  mind,  but  I  did  not  try  to  put 
them  into  words.  The  Fair  arose  a  beautiful  and 
most  vivid  picture.  I  went  to  bed  happy,  for  it 

49 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

seemed  that  the  future  was  all  of  it  as  bright  as 
the  picture  of  the  Fair.  I  didn't  know  why  it 
should  be  bright,  for  I  realized  that  I  had  no  pros- 
pects ;  but  every  one  was  happy,  and  in  the  midst 
of  happiness  the  world  has  always  smiled.  Upon 
awaking  the  pictures  were  gone,  but  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  muse  over  them,  and  I  got  up  without 
any  ill  feeling,  for  the  truth  is  that  I  had  drunk 
but  little,  and  even  that  was  under  the  approving 
supervision  of  my  aunt.  She  would  not  have 
permitted  me  to  drink  too  much.  I  went  again 
to  the  Fair  with  the  Judge  that  day  and  skimmed 
in  the  gondola,  but  I  refused  to  see  the  Turkish 
girls.  At  noon-time  we  went  to  a  place  called 
the  Cafe  Mariene,  where  hundreds  of  people  were 
drinking  everything  save  water;  and  the  Judge 
insisted  upon  buying  champagne,  but  I  refused 
to  drink  of  it.  He  called  me  a  charming  little 
Puritan.  My  talk  must  have  been  very  silly,  for, 
remembering  what  my  aunt  had  said,  that  men 
did  not  like  women  with  opinions,  I  had  refrained 
from  expressing  my  views  of  life.  The  Judge 
carried  a  gold-headed  cane,  with  his  name  en- 
graved on  the  top,  a  present,  he  said,  from  the 
bar  when  he  retired  from  the  bench;  and  once 

50 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

he  asked  me  to  carry  it  for  him,  just  as  a  joke,  he 
declared,  but  I  knew  he  wanted  to  prove  to  me 
that  he  could  walk  without  it.  There  were  sev- 
eral young  men  boarding  at  my  aunt's  house,  to- 
gether with  a  number  of  young  women,  and  I 
felt  that  I  should  like  to  see  the  Fair  with  them, 
but  aunt  said  that  all  of  the  girls  were  trying  to 
catch  the  Judge,  and  this  stimulated  me  into  a 
desire  to  be  with  him.  I  wondered,  however, 
why  it  was  that  a  man  given  to  such  unimportant 
talk  could  ever  have  been  a  judge.  He  liked  to 
go  about  the  Iowa  building,  where  people  spoke 
to  him  and  called  him  Judge,  and  it  was  here  that 
we  sat  in  the  evening,  looking  out  over  the  lake 
as  the  shadows  began  to  lie  closer  down  upon  the 
pleated  water.  He  asked  me  to  tell  him  about 
my  home,  and  I  told  him  many  things  that  were 
not  true,  that  a  count  who  had  come  into  our 
neighborhood  had  vowed  his  love  for  me,  and  that 
I  had  come  away  to  be  freed  from  his  importuni- 
ties. He  said  that  I  had  acted  with  great  good 
sense,  "  for,"  said  he,  "  those  foreigners  don't 
know  how  to  treat  a  woman.  Whenever  an 
American  girl  marries  a  nobleman  she  must  rec- 
oncile herself  to  slavery.  It  is  much  better  to 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

marry  some  man  of  mature  years  at  home — some 
man  that  has  been  married  before.  A  man  nearly 
always  values  his  second  wife  more  than  he  does 
the  first  one.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  as  I  was  not  possessed  of  ex- 
perience of  such  matters,  I  was  hardly  entitled 
to  speak,  and  he  said  that  my  discretion  was 
worthy  of  commendation.  "  You  are  a  remark- 
ably bright  young  woman,"  he  declared,  and  I 
wondered  how  he  had  found  it  out,  as  he  had 
given  me  no  opportunity  to  pass  judgment,  except 
upon  the  most  trivial  of  matters.  There  were  to 
be  fireworks  that  night,  and  I  asked  him  if  he 
were  not  afraid  to  remain  out  in  the  chilly  air, 
and  he  scoffed  at  the  idea  and  said  that  he  was 
tougher  than  a  pine  knot.  Several  persons  who 
had  been  sitting  near  us  got  up  and  went  away, 
and  then  the  Judge  assumed  a  tone  of  more  con- 
fidence, as  if  he  would  tell  me  some  of  his  secrets. 
He  did.  He  said  that  he  had  married  very  young 
and  that  he  had  never  been  in  love  with  his  wife. 
"  She  was  a  good,  honest  woman,"  he  admitted, 
"  but  was  never  a  companion  to  me.  With  her 
I  could  not  have  found  this  pleasure,  sitting  as 

52 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

you  and  I  are,  gazing  out  over  this  enchanting 
scene.  It  would  not  have  appealed  to  her." 

I  didn't  know  what  to  say,  so  I  ventured  to 
ask  him  if  she  were  an  educated  woman,  and  he 
replied  that  her  education  was  perhaps  all  that 
could  be  desired,  but  that  it  was  not  education 
alone  that  made  a  companion  of  a  woman.  Her 
mind  might  be  cultivated  and  still  she  might  be 
lacking  in  soul.  "  I  think  you  have  a  great  soul," 
he  said.  "  It  looks  out  of  your  eyes,  restless  and 
beautiful,  as  if  it  longed  to  escape  and  to  fly  away 
to  its  more  fitting  home — beyond  this  earth.  You 
have  a  yearning.  Tell  me  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  It  has  not  developed  into  an  identification  of 
itself,"  I  said,  hardly  knowing  what  I  was  going 
to  say,  and  realizing  that  I  had  said  something 
foolish,  but  he  expressed  great  admiration  for 
my  answer,  and  declared  that  none  but  a  great 
soul  could  frame  such  a  speech.  "  But  don't  you 
know  what  you  long  for  ?  "  he  asked,  and  in  the 
light  of  a  lamp  that  had  just  sprung  up  I  could  see 
his  eyes  bent  upon  me.  "  Every  heart  ought  to 
know  what  it  yearns  for." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  I  replied.  "  But  there  are 
times  or  rather  a  time  when  the  heart  hasn't  be- 

53 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

come  acquainted  with  itself.  We  may  have  a 
million  wishes  and  yet  no  great  aim." 

"  Hah,  you  talk  like  one  who  has  thought,"  he 
said.  "  Very  unusual." 

"  Unusual  for  one  to  think?  " 

"  Yes,  for  one — so  beautiful.  I  beg  your  par- 
don, but " 

I  laughed  and  told  him  that  he  had  committed 
no  offense.  And  he  seemed  disappointed  that  he 
hadn't.  Doubtless  he  desired  that  I  should  pro- 
test. I  waited  for  him  to  speak,  now  for  the  first 
time  really  interested  in  what  he  might  say. 
"  But  the  woman  who  thinks  should  no  longer  be 
a  surprise  to  man,  since  she  is  now  educated  to 
think,  if  not  for  herself,  yet  in  accordance  with 
the  mannish  views  of  other  women.  However,  we 
are  wandering  away  from  the  subject.  All 
women,  as  all  men,  have  ambitions,  greater  or 
less  as  the  case  may  be.  One  woman  may  wish 
to  be  a  leader  in  society  and " 

"  That  would  please  me,"  I  broke  in. 

"  But  have  you  no  higher  ambition  ?  That  is 
the  ambition  of  the  lighter  fancy.  Have  you  no 
ambition  of  the  soul  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  should  like  to  love  a  man 

54 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  be  loved — loved  as  much  as  I  desire  to  be 
loved,  which  I'm  afraid  can  never  be.  It  doesn't 
seem  to  me  that  any  man  could  love  as  much  as 
I  should  want  to  be  loved." 

"  Those  could  be  no  other  than  the  words  of 
a  pure  heart,"  he  said.  "  But  do  you  think  that 
a  young  man  could  love  you  as  devotedly  as  an 
old  man  ?  " 

"Why  not?  Isn't  youth  the  mother  and  the 
father  of  love  ?  Must  a  man  wait  until  his  forces 
are  nearly  ebbed  away  before  he  can  love  ?  Does 
nature  make  so  foolish  and  unreasonable  a  de- 
mand of  herself  ?  " 

"  You  are  surely  a  remarkable  young  woman," 
he  said.  "  I  thought  at  first  that  you  were  simply 
pretty,  but  now  I  find  that  you  think.  And  those 
who  think,  think  quickly,  so  now  I  must  tell  you 
what  is  in  my  mind  and  what  has  lodged  there 
ever  since  I  saw  you.  I  aspire  to  the  honor  of 
offering  you  my — myself  and  all  that  it  implies." 

It  was  of  no  use  to  tell  him  that  it  was  sudden, 
for  it  was  not;  I  had  seen  it  coming,  had  heard 
it  in  the  gathering  tenderness  of  his  voice.  It 
would  have  been  worse  than  rude  to  laugh,  and 
besides  I  did  not  feel  so  disposed.  But  it  was 

55 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

odd,  that  I  had  fled  from  the  arms  of  one  old  man 
to  the  arms  of  another  equally  old.  But  one  of 
them  was  old  and  disgusting.  This  one  was  old 
and  refined,  a  gentleman,  and  therefore  my  sym- 
pathy was  moved.  I  replied  that  he  had  honored 
me  rather  than  himself,  but  that  I  could  not  marry 
him.  Then  he  said  a  very  foolish  thing.  He 
asked  me  why.  "  Because,"  I  said,  and  I  was  im- 
pelled by  the  spirit  of  truth,  "  I  could  not  be  true 
to  you." 

"  Not  true  to  me !  "  he  gasped. 

"  No,  for  the  moment  I  felt  that  I  had  sold  my- 
self there  would  be  no  honor  left  in  my  soul,  and 
I  am  sure  that  I  should  at  some  time  fall  in  love 
and— fall." 

He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  folding  it 
slowly  pressed  it  to  his  forehead.  I  asked  him  if 
his  head  ached,  and  he  answered  no,  that  it  was 
his  heart.  At  this  I  could  not  help  smiling. 
"  There  are  precocious  children,"  he  said,  "  but  it 
is  rare  that  we  can  apply  the  term  to  a  woman. 
But  do  you  mean,  that  regardless  of  all  moral  obli- 
gation that  you  would " 

"  Give  myself  to  a  man  if  I  loved  him,"  I  said, 
when  for  a  moment  he  had  hesitated. 

56 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  If  you  were  held  by  the  bonds  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  would  give  myself  all  the  quicker  if  I  had  to 
break  bonds  that  were  unnatural." 

'  Then  if  you  were  to  marry  me  and  should  af- 
terward meet  a  man  whom  you  loved " 

"  As  animals  love,"  I  unblushingly  suggested. 
He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  he 
said :  '  Yes,  as  animals  love,  you  would  give 
yourself  to  him." 

"  Yes,  for  I  could  not  restrain  myself." 

And  now  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  spoke. 
"  And  you  call  yourself  a  virtuous  woman." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not.  My  own 
mother  couldn't  tell  me  what  virtue  is.  And  even 
you  are  counseling  me  to  defy  it — to  sell  my- 
self to  you.  All  I  hear  about  is  money,  money. 
Money  is  a  disease,  and  has  become  epidemic  in 
the  human  heart.  Whenever  I  dream  of  love,  I 
hear  the  ring  of  money.  I  ask  to  be  told  what 
virtue  is,  and  they  talk  to  me  about  money.  I 
have  read  of  divine  passion.  It  has  turned  to 
avarice.  They  are  shooting  off  the  rockets.  Shall 
we  go  ?  " 


57 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  "WISDOM"  OF  A  WOMAN. 

We  did  not  remain  very  long.  The  Judge 
seemed  to  have  lost  his  inspiration  and  was  feeble ; 
and  as  for  myself,  I  was  simply  a  country  girl, 
eyes  and  ears,  looking  at  the  fire  and  listening  to 
the  music  in  the  air.  Just  before  we  reached 
home — and  he  had  insisted  upon  walking  to  the 
grounds  to  prove,  perhaps,  that  he  was  strong — 
he  asked  me  if  I  had  nothing  to  say  to  him.  I 
answered  that  I  had  been  talking  during  the  en- 
tire evening  and  couldn't  very  well  think  of  any- 
thing else. 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  on  the  subject — that  so 
engaged  us  at  one  time.  Were  you  earnest  in  all 
that  you  said?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  have  been  more  in 
earnest.  Isn't  it  singular  that  whenever  a  woman 
says  anything  that  sounds  like  the  truth  a  man 
generally  supposes  that  she  doesn't  mean  it? 
Isn't  that  strange?  " 

58 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

He  said  that  he  hadn't  noticed  anything  of  the 
sort,  and  therefore  was  not  able  to  say  whether 
or  not  it  was  strange.  If  it  were  a  fact,  he  sup- 
posed that  it  was  strange.  I  was  disposed  to 
laugh,  but  he  was  serious,  and  he  sighed  as  we 
were  going  up  the  steps. 

My  aunt  was  waiting  for  me  and  she  came 
to  my  room  immediately  after  I  returned.  She 
appeared  flurried  over  something  and  I  was  seized 
with  a  fear  that  in  some  way  Old  Pague  and  my 
mother  had  conspired  to  have  me  taken  home.  It 
was  not  long,  however,  before  my  aunt  relieved 
all  fear  in  that  direction.  "Well,"  she  said, 
sitting  down  with  a  sigh  as  if  she  were  weary  of 
life,  "  I  never  would  have  thought  it." 

"  Thought  what?  "  I  inquired. 

"  That  he  could  have  been  such  a  deceiver — 
that  old  man — that  Judge.  But  instead  of  being 
a  man  of  wealth,  he  hasn't  more  than  enough  to 
live  on,  and  I  forbid  your  going  out  with  him 
again.  Why,  today  I  met  a  woman  who  lives 
near  him  out  in  Iowa,  and  she  told  me  the  truth 
about  him." 

"  And  who  told  you  the  falsehood  ? "  I  in- 
quired; and  she  didn't  know  how  to  answer  me. 

59 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Did  the  Judge  tell  you  he  was  rich,  did  some 
one  else  say  so,  or  was  it  a  mere  notion  of  your 
own?" 

"  Well,  now,  some  one  told  me;  that's  certain. 
And  whoever  it  was  told  it  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  deceive ;  and  the  Judge  must  have  known 
by  the  way  we  all  treated  him  that  we  thought 
him  rich,  and  he  could  have  set  us  right  if  he 
had  wanted  to.  I  don't  like  such  underhand  deal- 
ings. So,  I  forbid  you  to  go  out  with  him  again." 

There  is  nothing  more  ridiculous  than  to  be 
serious  over  the  absurd,  and  my  aunt's  condemna- 
tion of  the  Judge  for  permitting  us  to  be  deceived 
with  regard  to  himself,  was  more  than  absurd — 
it  was  farcical.  But  I  sobered  my  countenance, 
and  told  her  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  ask 
me  to  go  again.  Then  I  told  her  that  he  had 
asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  she  frowned  and  de- 
clared that  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself, 
to  seek  such  an  advantage  over  a  young  girl. 
"  There  isn't  one  man  in  a  thousand  you  can  put 
any  confidence  in,"  she  said.  "  If  they  don't  di- 
rectly deceive  you  they  know  when  you  are  being 
deceived  and  let  you  remain  in  the  dark,  so  it  all 

60 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

amounts  to  the  same.     You  have  made  a  lucky 
escape." 

"  It  wasn't  luck,"  I  answered,  "  I  had  no  idea 
of  marrying  him." 

"  Not  even  if  he  had  been  rich  ?  " 
"  I  refused  him  when  I  supposed  him  rich." 
My  aunt  sighed.  She  said  that  it'  was  very 
hard  to  understand  me,  I  was  so  whimsical.  She 
started  out  of  the  room,  but  faced  about  and,  as 
if  I  had  been  going  with  the  Judge  in  opposition 
to  her  wishes,  declared  that  such  a  relationship 
must  end  from  that  moment.  "  Your  mother  shall 
never  have  a  chance  to  say  that  I  trapped  you 
into  an  unsuitable  match,"  she  said,  and  bade  me 
good  night.  Her  determination  was  unnecessary, 
for  the  Judge  left  the  house  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, without  saying  good-bye;  and  I  never  saw 
him  again. 

Very  soon  there  came  a  letter  from  my  mother. 
I  expected  her  to  reproach  me,  but  I  was  hardly 
prepared  for  the  assertion  that  I  had  broken  her 
heart.  "  And  if  you  could  see  Mr.  Pague's  suffer- 
ing your  own  hard  heart  would  surely  bleed,  if 
it  has  any  blood  in  it.  I  didn't  think  any  human 
being,  brought  up  by  a  Christian  mother,  could 

61 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

be  so  cruel  as  to  treat  a  gentleman  as  you  have 
treated  the  man  who  loves  you,  and  who  would 
have  laid  down  his  life  for  you.  And  it  will  be 
just  like  you  to  meet  some  foolish  young  fellow 
and  marry  him;  but  I  don't  want  you  to  think 
that  you  can  bring  him  here  to  humiliate  me 
with  his  shiftlessness  and  poverty." 

She  said  nothing  of  my  possible  return  home 
and  I  knew  that  her  heart  was  not  broken  simply 
on  account  of  my  absence  from  her  sight.  She 
did  not  mention  her  husband,  and  I  was  gratified 
to  know  that  his  part  in  my  escape  had  not  been 
suspected.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  de- 
termination to  take  up  my  home  in  Chicago  en- 
tered my  mind.  I  had  lost  none  of  my  affection 
for  my  old  home,  for  my  mother ;  but  in  the  love 
for  her  was  a  pity  for  her  weakness,  and  I  could 
not  help  feeling  that  in  some  way  a  part  of  her 
lack  of  strength  had  entered  into  my  own  char- 
acter. I  told  Aunt  of  my  resolve  to  live  in 
Chicago.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  are  well  enough  educated  and  surely  you 
are  handsome  enough  to  make  your  way.  For 
a  good-looking  girl  there  is  always  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  well,  with  application  in  the  first 

62 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

place,  and  some  little  tact  in  the  second.  It  won't 
take  you  long  to  learn  stenography  and  typewrit- 
ing, and  then  it  will  be  easy  enough  to  get  a  place 
in  some  office.  You  can  imagine  the  rest." 

I  replied  that  I  could  not  imagine  the  rest,  un- 
less she  meant  efficiency  in  my  work,  and  she 
smiled  upon  me.  "  Three  girls  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, one  out  of  this  house,  have  married  rich — 
their  employers.  Find  the  right  sort  of  place  and 
stay  there." 

"  You  mean  to  find  some  place,  then,  where 
there  is  a  marriageable  man." 

The  look  that  she  gave  me  was  too  shrewd  to 
be  merely  wise.  "  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  all  men 
are  more  or  less  marriageable.  The  divorce 
courts  are  active." 

I  understood  her  and  I  burned  with  shame. 
She  noticed  it  and  said :  "  Of  course  I  don't  mean 
exactly  that.  But  there  are  many  widowers  in 
business,  and  a  good  looking  girl  has  her  choice 
of  offices  when  it  comes  to  getting  a  position. 
You  may  think  me  sordid,  but  I  have  had  to  strug- 
gle in  this  heartless  world  until  poverty  is  to  me 
a  positive  crime.  It  is  to  everybody.  Why  should 
any  one  be  poor?  Look  out  on  the  street  any 

63 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

evening  and  you  will  see  some  wretched  woman 
taking  home  the  clothes  that  she  has  washed. 
She  receives  her  few  dimes  and  returns  home  to 
her  miserable  home.  Her  children,  brought  up 
on  the  street,  are  anything  but  tender  and  lov- 
ing. They  reproach  her  with  their  poverty.  The 
chances  are  that  she  was  a  handsome  girl  and 
married — to  please  herself  instead  of  her  mother. 
She  wanted  love  and  love  only,  and  got  it.  When- 
ever you  think  that  I  am  not  talking  hard  sense, 
prove  my  error  and  I'll  change  my  tone.  Sup- 
pose you  marry  a  young  man  and  help  him  make 
his  fortune.  How  much  of  it  would  belong  to 
you?  Upon  some  pretext  or  other  he  would 
probably  obtain  a  divorce  and  marry  a  young 


woman/' 


"  I  had  no  idea  that  life  was  so  wretched,"  I 
replied.  "  It  would  have  been  better  for  every- 
body never  to  have  lived.  Your  ideas  not  only 
prevail  in  the  city,  but  in  the  country  places  as 
well." 

"  The  fault  lies  with  the  fact  that  there  are 
— women,"  she  said.  "  Nature,  man  and  all  life 
have  discriminated  against  her,  and  then  she  is 
blamed  by  so-called  virtue  because  she  doesn't 

64 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

want  to  load  her  life  down  with  the  burden  of 
children.  Children,  indeed.  Let  the  future  take 
care  of  itself.  Our  lives  lie  here  about  us.  Why, 
when  we  take  into  account  the  misery  of  this  life, 
it  is  a  positive  crime  to  bring  a  child  into  the 
world.  I  had  one,  and  he  disgraced  me  and  died 
a  drunkard  while  he  was  hardly  more  than  a 
boy." 

"  I  am  most  unfortunate,"  I  said,  for  her  words 
made  me  miserable.  "  It  is  a  pity  that  I  am  a 
woman  or  that  I  am  at  all.  But  I  had  thought 
that  woman,  the  mother  of  the  race  of  man,  was 
noble.  They  say  that  our  grandmothers  were. 
How  could  there  have  been  so  great  a  change  in 
so  short  a  time?  Of  course  there  can't  be  any 
happiness  when  nearly  every  one  is  preaching 
dissatisfaction.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  has 
arisen  a  conspiracy  against  life.  In  the  country 
the  women  try  to  cultivate  their  minds  with  books 
and  literary  societies;  and  when  they  come  to 
the  city  they  find  that  all  of  their  time  has  been 
wasted.  You  have  made  me  wretched." 

"  That  hasn't  been  my  aim,  I'm  sure.  I  am 
trying  to  put  you  in  a  way  to  be  happy,  or  at  least 
contented.  Of  what  is  the  use  of  seeking  to  make 

65 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

a  virtuous  disguise  of  a  thing  that  is  so  perfectly 
plain?  Everything  points  to  money.  With  it 
you  may  not  be  happy,  but  without  it  you  are  sure 
to  be  miserable." 

Next  day  I  went  to  the  Fair  with  some  of  the 
young  people,  and  amid  music  and  the  gorgeous 
sights  from  all  the  world,  I  was  happy.  But 
melancholy  settled  upon  me  when  I  returned  to 
the  house.  I  could  not  keep  down  the  feeling  that 
my  aunt,  who  showed  that  life  with  her  had  been 
a  battle,  had  told  at  least  a  part  of  the  truth. 
With  all  of  her  "  wisdom,"  she  was  not  cold  at 
heart.  She  said  that  she  would  advance  enough 
money  to  take  me  through  one  of  the  commercial 
schools,  would  board  me,  and  that  I  could  repay 
her  whenever  I  found  myself  able.  In  a  letter 
scarcely  less  reproachful  than  the  first  one,  my 
mother  approved  of  my  determination.  She  had 
heard  that  typewriting  was  a  good  opportunity 
for  a  good-looking  girl.  Never  a  word  of  cau- 
tion, never  an  admonition.  Some  women  are  so 
virtuous  as  they  understand  it,  a  physical  adher- 
ence to  a  principle,  that  they  think  it  inborn,  and 
it  ought  to  be,  but  circumstances  are  stronger 
than  traits. 

66 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 

Not  far  from  our  house  there  was  a  small 
commercial  school.  My  aunt  thought  that  it 
would  be  better  to  enter  here  than  to  pay  more  at 
one  of  the  large  establishments,  and  so  I  became 
a  student  of  shorthand  and  typewriting.  I  had 
never  found  it  difficult  to  learn  anything,  but  after 
a  few  weeks  I  was  surprised  at  my  own  aptitude. 
I  think  that  women  learn  stenography  easier  than 
men,  up  to  a  certain  point.  It  may  be  because 
those  little  crooked  marks  all  of  them  contain  a 
secret;  and  it  was  with  a  sense  of  prying  into 
those  secrets  that  urged  me  on.  Sometimes  at 
night  my  aunt  would  dictate  to  me  some  of  her 
views  on  life,  and  she  was  always  pleased  with 
herself  when  I  read  them  to  her ;  and  I  remember 
that  she  said  that  her  life  would  make  a  great 
book.  "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  but  the  men  who  read  it 
would  never  marry." 

"  And  why  not,  pray?  "  she  asked. 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Because  they  would  believe  that  all  a  woman 
wants  is  money." 

"  Well,  I  guess  the  majority  of  them  that  do 
marry  find  that  out  soon  enough." 

There  was  no  way  to  get  encouragement  out  of 
her.  Worry  and  hard  work  had  soured  all  the 
cream  of  this  life,  and  now  she  would  have  me 
believe  that  there  had  never  been  any  cream  for 
her,  and  that  unless  I  made  money  my  god  there 
could  be  none  for  me.  I  knew  that  somewhere, 
doubtless  within  sight  of  our  house,  there  was 
honest  happiness — love;  instinct  and  the  warm 
blood  of  youth  told  me  that  life  was  not  all  a 
nightmare ;  but  hope  is  powerless  to  combat  with 
experience,  for  experience  sits  upon  the  corpse 
of  hope.  And  so,  arguments  with  my  aunt  al- 
ways came  to  naught,  leaving  her,  in  her  experi- 
ence, the  victor  of  the  field.  Sometimes  we  went 
to  the  theater,  and  she  always  laughed  at  plays 
where  virtue  came  out  triumphant  in  the  purity 
of  its  weakness.  And  yet,  without  the  proper 
ceremony  she  would  not  have  sold  herself.  Why 
was  this  ?  Why  should  there  be  so  much  of  virtue 
in  a  lie  administered  by  the  law? 

One  night,  late  in  August,  we  were  coming 

68 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

out  of  the  Auditorium  Theater  when  some  one, 
gorgeous  beyond  immediate  recognition,  flounced 
up  to  me  with  a  "  W'y,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  It  was 
Olive,  my  dear  friend;  and  she  introduced  me  to 
her  husband — old  Pague.  I  wanted  to  scream 
and  yet  I  felt  that  I  could  sink  into  the  earth 
I  presented  my  aunt  and  she  smiled  upon  Olive 
and  shook  hands  heartily  with  the  old  man;  and 
he  coughed  and  smiled,  showing  his  new  teeth. 
"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Olive.  "  What  a 
lucky  accident.  Isn't  it,  dear  ?  "  The  latter  part 
of  the  remark  was  addressed  to  Pague,  and  he 
smiled  as  broadly  as  he  could  and  said  that  it  was 
a  most  fortunate  incident.  "  I  would  have  come 
to  see  you,  dear,"  said  Olive,  and  this  dear  was 
addressed  to  me,  "  but  I  didn't  know  your  address, 
and  it's  so  hard  to  find  any  one  here.  You  see, 
we  left  home  rather  suddenly,  didn't  we,  dear  ?  " 
This  dear  belonged  to  Pague,  and  he  acknowl- 
edged it  with  a  smile.  "  Do  let  us  go  some  place 
where  we  can  talk,"  said  Olive.  "  Some  restaur- 
ant. Dear,  will  you  please  call  a  carriage  ?  " 

I  demurred,  but  she  insisted;  aunt  was  more 
than  willing,  and  "  dear  "  called  a  carriage  and 
we  drove  away.  Every  time  Olive  moved  there 

69 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

was  the  rustle  of  silk.  "  We  have  been  here  two 
weeks,"  she  said.  "  And  dear  has  been  so  awfully 
good  to  me — has  bought  me  everything  I  looked 
at.  I  wrote  to  mamma  to-day  and  told  her  how 
happy  I  am." 

We  went  into  a  glittering  place,  and  when  the 
waiters  saw  Olive  in  her  finery  they  came  run- 
ning; and  Pague,  who  must  have  seen  much  of 
the  world,  knew  how  to  order  them  about.  We 
entered  into  a  little  room  off  to  one  side,  and  I 
heard  Pague  say  that  we  wanted  champagne. 
My  aunt  looked  at  me  and  drew  down  the  corners 
of  her  mouth,  which  meant  that  she  was  express- 
ing her  sorrow  over  my  lost  opportunity.  I  asked 
Pague  if  he  were  well,  not  knowing  what  else  to 
say  to  him,  and  he  answered,  "  Never  better  in 
my  life" ;  and  Olive  asked  me  if  I  didn't  think  he 
looked  twenty  years  younger.  My  aunt  glanced 
at  me  and  I  said  that  twenty  years  younger  was 
undoubtedly  the  way  he  looked,  and  he  gave  me  a 
pitying  smile.  . 

"  Mr.  Pague  has  just  entered  into  some  sort 
of  a  consolidation  of  his  mines,"  said  Olive ;  "  and 
is  here  now  combining  business  with  pleasure. 
But  pleasure  is  in  the  ascendent,  isn't  it,  dear  ?  " 

70 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Dear  "  said  that  it  was,  and  my  aunt  took  a 
swallow  of  water.  And  what  a  dinner  the  old 
man  ordered!  One  would  have  thought  that  it 
was  his  wedding  feast,  deferred  until  now;  and 
when  the  wine  was  brought  he  tipped  my  glass 
with  his  own  and  laughingly  said  that  we  would 
drink  to  better  acquaintance.  We  drank,  and  in- 
stantly I  felt  better  acquainted  with  him.  The 
music  struck  up  and  but  for  an  occasional  re- 
proachful glance  from  my  aunt  I  should  have 
been  happy.  Olive  said  that  she  was  dying  to 
have  a  long  talk  with  me,  alone;  and  I  gave  her 
our  address  and  she  said  that  she  would  come 
out  the  next  day,  which  was  Sunday.  It  was  an 
occasion  to  be  remembered,  for  every  one  in  the 
brilliant  place  seemed  to  be  happy;  and  when  we 
went  out  Pague  insisted  upon  sending  us  home 
in  a  carriage.  I  declined  the  honor,  but  Pague 
was  determined  and  my  aunt  pulled  at  me,  and 
I  knew  that  I  must  yield.  So  we  got  into  a  car- 
riage. It  was  some  time  before  my  aunt  said 
anything,  but  I  could  hear  her  thoughts  and  it 
was  not  a  surprise  when  she  said :  "  That  is  a 
sensible  girl  and  you  were  foolish.  The  chances 
are  that  he  is  worth  a  million  dollars.  Coal 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

mines — gracious  alive,  I  know  what  it  is  to  pay 
coal  bills.  Gypsy,  I  don't  blame  your  mother — 
not  a  bit;  and  I  don't  see  how  you  can  keep  from 
blaming  yourself.  Can  you  ?  " 

I  said  that  since  Mr.  Pague  seemed  to  be 
happy,  with  no  scars  on  his  heart,  there  was  noth- 
ing with  which  to  reproach  myself;  and  she 
cleared  her  throat  as  my  mother  had  so  often 
done  when  she  was  irritated  with  me.  "  What 
he  thinks  or  feels  doesn't  enter  into  the  ques- 
tion," said  my  aunt.  "  You  yourself  are  the  one 
to  be  considered." 

"  But  I  don't  take  the  trouble  to  consider  my- 
self. If  I  committed  a  wrong  it  was  against  my- 
self, and  this  wrong  is  now  past  reckoning  with, 
I  should  think." 

"  Come,  don't  talk  like  a  school  ma'rni.  Be 
sensible — if  you  can."  And  after  we  had  driven 
some  distance  further,  she  added:  "If  you  had 
married  that  man  you  wouldn't  now  be  com- 
pelled to  seek  employment  in  some  office." 

"  But  aunt,  you  said  that  such  employment  of- 
fered a  fine  opportunity." 

With  her  lips  she  made  that  sort  of  noise  which 
irritation  cannot  form  into  words.  "  Yes,  in- 

72 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

deed,"  she  said,  after  a  time.  "  But  what  use  is 
there  to  throw  away  a  reality  for  an  opportunity  ? 
Tell  me  that." 

I  was  compelled  to  say  that  I  didn't  know.  Oh, 
I  had  long  since  learned  that  money  was  always 
to  have  the  best  of  all  arguments.  She  said  that 
Pague  was  attractive  and  intelligent,  a  man  of 
the  world ;  and  she  was  sure  that  he  would  make 
a  kind  and  attentive  husband.  Kindness  lived 
longer  than  love.  Kindness  sometimes  arose  into 
love,  but  love  rarely  sobered  into  kindness.  "  Oh, 
all  of  my  experience  hasn't  come  out  of  a  cook 
book,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  ignorant;  I  can  read 
and  I  can  reason." 

She  could  talk,  I  knew  that ;  and  since  talk  has 
ever  been  taken  for  reason,  I  did  not  dispute  her. 
Besides,  there  did  seem  to  be  reason  in  what  she 
said.  Her  ill-humor  with  me  never  lasted  long 
at  a  time,  and  just  before  we  reached  home  she 
said :  "  But  you  must  make  the  best  of  the  next 
opportunity.  It  is  no  use  to  grieve  over  spilt 
milk." 

I  wanted  to  say  that  it  was  especially  of  no  use 
to  grieve  over  sour  milk  purposely  thrown  away, 
but  I  didn't. 

73 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Next ,  morning  there  came  a  letter  from  my 
mother.  She  said  that  she  had  been  ill  and  there- 
fore had  not  written  to  tell  me  of  the  grand  wed- 
ding over  at  Peyton's.  The  money  which  right- 
fully belonged  to  me  had  been  settled  on  Olive, 
she  said;  and  the  Peyton  family,  including  the 
father,  who  had  always  been  ambitious  for  his 
daughter,  were  all  of  them  happy. 

In  the  afternoon  Olive  came  in  a  carriage, 
without  her  husband ;  and  I  saw  a  look  of  pity  in 
her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  the  plain  furniture  in 
my  room.  I  asked  her  what  had  become  of  the 
postoffice  in  the  hollow  tree,  and  she  laughed  and 
said,  "  Poor  Charley.  And  he  reformed,  too, 
thinking  that  I  was  going  to  marry  him.  But  it 
couldn't  be.  He  wrote  to  me  just  before  the  wed- 
ding and  said  that  he  wished  my  husband  would 
live  a  hundred  years.  Wasn't  that  kind  ?  Char- 
ley has  such  a  forgiving  nature.  Oh,  did  I  tell 
you  that  we  thought  of  going  to  Egypt  this  win- 
ter ?  Mr.  Pague  wants  me  to  go  up  the  Nile.  He 
says  it's  charming.  He  was  there  several  years 
ago  and  was  much  taken  with  the — the  view  from 
the  boat.  I  heard  that  there  was  the  mummy  of 
an  Egyptian  princess  here,  and  I  went  to  see  her, 

74 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

upstairs  over  a  candy  store;  and  I  looked  at  her 
and  wondered  if  she  had  ever  been  very  beauti- 
ful. I  think  her  complexion  must  have  been  very 
much  tanned.  My,  how  I  do  go  on.  I'm  keeping 
the  first  letter  Charley  wrote  me  after  he  heard 
of  my  determination  to  marry  Mr.  Pague.  I 
told  him  myself  and  he  didn't  say  much,  but  went 
away  to  write  to  me.  It  is  full  of  the  sweetest 
despair  you  ever  saw.  And  I'm  going  to  keep 

it  as  long  as  I  live,  and "  she  turned  her  face 

from  me.  "  Isn't  it  funny  how  we  treasure  such 
things  ?  "  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes.  "  And  you 
could  have  had  him — Mr.  Pague,  I  mean,  but 
then  you  were  always  my  successful,  or  rather 
my  superior  rival — except  this  time.  But  of 
course  you  don't  care  now  if  he  loves  me  more 
than  he  could  have  loved  you.  You  never  seemed 
to  care  for  love,  anyway.  Now  tell  me  all  about 
yourself  and  what  you  intend  to  do." 

I  told  her  that  I  was  studying  in  a  commercial 
school,  and  she  said  that  if  Mr.  Pague  centered 
his  business  in  Chicago  he  could  give  me  employ- 
ment. "  But  it  would  not  be  in  the  line  of  my 
aunt's  policy  for  me  to  work  for  a  man  that  is 
not  eligible,"  I  said. 

75 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  How  eligible  ?  Oh,  I  see.  Well,  I  wish  you 
as  much  luck  as  I've  had." 

When  she  had  taken  her  leave  I  thought  that 
she  was  happy,  with  the  exception  of  the  few 
tears  she  had  shed  over  Charley;  and  they  may 
have  been  happy  tears.  I  did  not  talk  to  her  seri- 
ously. There  was  nothing  serious  except  money, 
and  the  serious  part  of  money  is  that  you  do  not 
possess  it.  When  I  went  to  bed  that  night  I 
agreed  that  I  was  conquered,  and  I  formed  a  re- 
solve to  have  money,  to  be  desperate  if  neces- 
sary, to  let  my  heart  play  no  part,  to  crush  it. 
Usually  a  night  resolve  flies  away  with  the  morn- 
ing, but  this  one  did  not;  it  hardened  into  a  de- 
termination. Before  going  to  school  I  told  my 
aunt  that  she  had  conquered,  that  I  was  going  to 
follow  her  advice 

"  And  be  somebody,"  she  broke  in  cheerfully. 
"  We  can't  get  away  from  the  fact,  my  dear,"  she 
said — "  the  fact  that  women  are  to  buy  and  sell, 
or  to  be  bought  and  sold.  All  conditions  and  all 
nature  point  to  that  fact.  A  woman's  love  is  one 
of  twins — the  other  one  is  trouble." 

I  could  not  help  admiring  her,  she  was  so 
strong  in  many  ways.  In  France  she  would  have 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sat  on  a  cannon  with  a  sword  in  her  hand.  As 
a  man,  with  that  brow,  that  head  shaped  for 
strength  of  purpose,  she  would  have  been  a  states- 
man. Her  god  was  power — money;  and  power 
in  some  form  has  always  been  the  god  of  the 
great.  How  she  despised  her  work;  how  she 
despised  the  people  that  were  compelled  to  board. 
She  knew  that  with  money  she  could  have  been 
a  dominating  force  in  the  women  clubs.  She  was 
rising  when  my  uncle  died.  But  when  the  women 
learned  that  she  was  poor  and  must  work  for  a 
living,  they  fell  away  from  her.  It  was  no  won- 
der that  she  hated  them.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
in  her  love  for  me  she  wanted  me  to  rule. 

I  returned  Olive's  visit,  at  the  hotel,  and  I 
found  her  in  handsome  apartments.  Old  Pague 
was  surely  "  blowing  "  himself,  and  his  wife  knew 
how  to  help  him.  When  the  dam  that  has  held 
in  the  current  of  her  life  breaks  loose,  it  is  the 
country  girl  that  knows  how  to  spend  money. 
She  may  not  have  read  much,  but  the  little  she 
has  read  teaches  her  what  to  want. 

She  showed  me  her  clothes,  and  the  dresses 
that  I  had  "  stolen  "  from  home  were  mean  in 
comparison.  It  had  been  too  warm  to  wear  her 

77 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

seal  skin,  but  she  put  it  on  for  me,  and  I  must 
confess  that  envy  crept  into  my  heart.  Her  hats 
were  dreams  edged  with  visions,  and  it  was  the 
first  time  that  I  had  ever  seen  a  pair  of  shoes 
that  cost  ten  dollars.  But  they  were  too  large  for 
me,  and  this  was  some  comfort.  She  chatted  all 
the  time,  as  I  imagined  a  queen  might  prate  over 
new  territories  that  had  come  into  her  posses- 
sion ;  she  ordered  champagne  and  we  drank  it  and 
hugged  each  other  and  laughed.  But  she  began 
to  talk  about  Charley,  and  this  made  her  cry ;  but 
not  for  long,  as  her  hats  were  in  full  view. 

After  a  while  Pague  came  in,  trying  to  look 
spry,  but  very  tired.  He  put  his  arms  about  her, 
as  was  his  right  if  not  her  pleasure,  and  she 
kissed  him  and  put  her  soft  cheek  against  his  an- 
cient stubble  land,  his  jaw;  and  they  cooed.  But 
I  was  not  envious  except  when  I  looked  at  the 
hats.  After  a  time  Paeue  put  her  aside  and 
began  to  fumble  over  some  papers  that  looked 
like  bills,  and  he  winced  so  that  I  expected  him  to 
cry  "  Ouch." 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong,  dear  ?  "  she  in- 
quired. 

He  smiled  in  a  colicky  sort  of  way  and  said 

78 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  everything  was  all  right,  "  my  pet."  He 
asked  me  if  I  had  heard  from  my  mother  of  late, 
and  when  I  told  him,  he  said :  "  She  is  a  most 
remarkable  woman,  full  of  common  sense.  And 
she  would  have  made  a  man  of  your  father  if — 
I  beg  your  pardon — if  it  hadn't  been  for  his  un- 
fortunate habits." 

It  was  cruel  of  me,  but  I  felt  that  if  he  had 
ever  been  much  of  a  man  it  would  have  been  in 
spite  of  her.  It  may  be  that  some  men  who  drink 
have  a  cause.  It  may  be  more  of  dissatisfaction 
at  home  than  the  allurements  of  the  wineshop. 
Men  are  not  made  strong  by  the  weak  ambitions 
of  a  woman.  A  noble  unselfishness  is  the  main 
spring  of  true  greatness — on  the  part  of  a  wife. 
But  I  did  not  at  this  time  so  argue  with  myself, 
for  my  resolve  was  made.  I  was  going  to  be 
selfish.  And  God  knows  how  I  carried  out  this 
determination. 

I  asked  Pague  if  Samuel,  mother's  husband, 
were  doing  anything.  "  Well,  nothing  to  amount 
to  anything,"  he  replied.  "  I  think  he  is  trying 
to  invent  some  sort  of  a  machine.  In  fact  I  know 
he  is.  He  came  to  me  not  long  ago  and  said 
that  it  would  take  about  a  thousand  dollars  to 

79 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

put  it  in  shape  for  the  market.  Under — well,  I 
might  say  that  under  certain  conditions  I  might 
have  let  him  take  the  money." 

He  looked  at  me.  Olive,  with  one  of  her  hats 
on  her  head,  was  standing  in  front  of  the  dresser, 
surveying  herself  in  the  glass.  I  nodded  and 
slowly  he  shook  his  head.  "  Why  are  you  two 
so  silent  all  at  once  ?  "  Olive  inquired,  turning 
around  and  looking  first  at  me  and  then  at  him. 

"  Because,  my  dear,"  said  Pague,  "  there  is 
practically  nothing  more  to  say  about  a  man  when 
you  have  said  that  he  has  invented  a  machine." 

"  But  you  said  that  under  certain  conditions 
you  might  have  let  him  have  money.  What  con- 
ditions do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  him 
and  then  at  me. 

"  Why,  if  he  had  been  foolish  enough  to  marry 
me,"  I  spoke  up. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  said,  putting  off  her  hat, 
going  to  him  and  putting  her  arms  about  his 
leathery  neck.  She  was  standing  behind  him,  and 
she  looked  at  me,  her  eyes  smiling;  but  the  light 
was  not  soft.  At  this  moment  she  must  have 
attributed  to  me  a  moral  superiority  that  I  did 
not  feel. 

80 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

A  boy  brought  a  card  for  Pague.  He  looked 
at  it,  and,  remarking  that  he  would  be  down  in  a 
moment,  kissed  his  wife  and  went  out.  No  sooner 
had  he  gone  than  Olive  sank  down  upon  a  chair 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  There  was  no 
way  by  which  I  could  comfort  her,  and  I  re- 
mained silent.  After  a  time  she  looked  up  and 
her  eyes  were  red,  but  she  was  smiling,  v  The 
same  quality  in  man  is  called  heroism. 


81 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  THE  OFFICE. 

When  Pague  returned  he  found  us  chatting 
gaily.  Olive  had  tried  on  her  other  hat.  "  What 
a  picture,"  he  said  as  he  looked  at  her,  posing 
before  the  glass.  Then  he  added :  "  My  dear, 
my — our  business  calls  us  home." 

"  Home,"  she  repeated,  in  a  sad  tone,  and  took 
off  her  hat. 

'  Yes,  and  we  must  go  to-night." 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  ?  "  It  was  the 
money.  She  was  afraid  that  it  might  get  away. 
He  told  her  no,  that  nothing  was  wrong,  but 
that  he  had  been  sued — a  trifling  matter. 
"  Then,  why  can't  I  stay  here  till  you  attend  to 
it  and  come  back  ?  "  she  said.  He  drew  down 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  looked  at  her.  She 
put  on  her  hat  and  posed  for  him.  He  smiled — 
the  old  fool.  I  took  my  leave  of  him.  Olive  came 
with  me  down  the  corridor.  "  I  suppose  people 
would  think  it  strange  if  he  went  home  without 

82 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

me,"  she  said.  "  But  I  wish  he  would.  We  could 
have  such  a  time — with  him  gone.  But  what 
am  I  saying?  The  Fair  will  soon  be  over,  but 
I'm  coming  back  before  it  ends — mind  if  I  don't." 

This  sounded  like  a  threat.  I  told  her  that  I 
hoped  she  would.  She  looked  determined,  almost 
grim;  she  was  no  longer  beautiful;  at  such  mo- 
ments she  was  hard.  The  lines  about  her  mouth 
looked  like  steel  wire.  But  she  had  hats. 

We  stood  waiting  for  the  elevator.  "  Charley 
said  that  he  was  coming  to  the  Fair,"  she  said. 
And  then  she  added :  "  Do  you  know  what  I  am 
foolishly  afraid  of?  That  you  might  meet  him. 
He  has  heard  me  speak  of  you.  He  would  like 
to  meet  you  to  spite  me." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  interested  in  him 
now  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  don't  know.  Oh,  I'm  not  interested  in  him. 
It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me  what  he 
does ;  only  if  you  see  him  don't  talk  to  him  about 
me.  Here  comes  the  elevator.  Good  bye." 

She  kissed  me;  she  left  a  tear  on  my  cheek — 
her  tear. 

I  told  my  aunt  of  my  visit,  of  all  that  had 

83 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

passed.  "  Let  her  be  strong  and  she  will  win," 
she  said. 

"  Win  what  ?  "  I  inquired.    I  was  wondering. 

"  What  she  must  have  to  be  happy — a  chance 
.'  to  dominate  over  something,  somebody.  We  are 
never  contented  except  when  we  look  down.  We 
never  do  anything  except  when  we  look  up.  Let 
her  look  up.  She  has  the  opportunity.  It  does 
not  in  many  cases  come  twice.  You  have  had 
one  offered  to  you.  Make  the  most  of  the  other 
one.  You  can." 

I  said  that  I  would.  Olive  had  appeared  un- 
happy but  for  a  few  moments  at  a  time.  After- 
ward I  knew  that  it  was  a  constant  struggle  for 
her  to  appear  even  pleasant.  My  future  was 
coming.  My  heart  was  dying.  It  was  now  al- 
most sufficiently  dead. 

After  this,  at  school,  I  worked  harder  than 
ever.  The  secrets  in  the  curls,  the  sprawling 
spider  legs,  were  the  secrets  of  power.  I  was 
attaining  speed  in  writing  this  unknown  lan- 
guage, this  warping  of  my  own  tongue.  My  fin- 
gers flew  over  the  typewriter  keys.  The  teacher 
saw  in  me  great  promise,  that  of  becoming  an 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

expert.    That  was  an  insult,  but  he  didn't  know 
it.    He  was  a  man — stupid. 

One  day  my  aunt  and  I  gathered  in  a  harvest 
of  Sunday  papers.    I  was  looking  for  a  position. 
She  had  given  me  some  of  her  swiftest  "  wis- 
dom "  and  I  had  caught  it  with  ease.    Business 
would  not  talk  so  fast  as  wisdom.    The  next  day 
I  went  out  with  a  purse  full  of  newspaper  cut- 
tings.   I  would  fill  it  full  of  gold  before  I  halted, 
I  said.     My  aunt  applauded  the  determination. 
I  went  to  a  number  of  places.    I  met  oldish  look- 
ing girls  coming  out.    I  could  have  had  three  po- 
sitions before  noon-time,  but  they  didn't  suit  me. 
The  surroundings  were  too  mean.    In  the  after- 
noon I  went  into  a  large  collecting  agency,  on 
the  tenth  floor  of  a  new  building.    When  I  told 
why  I  had  called,  I  was  shown  into  a  room  where 
several  girls  were  waiting.     They  were  plainly 
dressed.    I  had  on  a  part  of  my  wedding  outfit. 
Their  talk  betrayed  a  lack  of  education.    One  of 
them  said  that  she  had  worked  in  a  department 
store.    She  looked  tired.    One  by  one  we  were 
shown  into  another  room.    A  man  in  a  doorway 
summoned  me  before  my  time  came.    The  others 
were  hastened  somewhat,  I  thought.    In  the  room 

8s 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

there  was  a  rug  on  the  floor.  The  place  was 
neat.  Here  I  met  a  cheerful  man,  rather  mature, 
with  a  bright  scarcity  of  hair.  He  bade  me  be 
seated.  He  did  not  begin  the  conversation  by 
asking  me  about  my  efficiency.  He  spoke  about 
the  weather,  which  he  said  was  fine.  I  remarked 
that  such  days  always  turned  my  mind  toward 
the  woods.  A  man  with  no  sentiment  likes  to 
'hear  a  woman  talk  about  the  woods.  He  said 
that  he  was  fond  of  the  country.  I  wondered  if 
he  said  this  because  he  thought  that  I  was  a  coun- 
try girl.  Some  one  came  in  and  addressed  him 
as  Mr.  Nevum.  After  a  while  I  spoke  of  his  ad- 
vertisement. He  said  that  he  had  several  young 
women  under  consideration.  Then  I  said  that 
he  might  consider  me,  and  he  smiled  and  re- 
marked that  I  ought  to  fill  all  requirements.  Then 
he  spoke  of  salary.  The  girl  who  had  just  left — 
went  home  to  be  married — had  received  more 
than  the  usual  wage ;  she  had  been  some  time  with 
the  firm,  a  year,  I  afterward  understood.  I  said 
that  he  might  try  me  and  if  I  were  not  worth  as 
much  as  she,  why,  it  would  then  be  time  to  reduce 
me.  He  said  that  this  was  fair. 

"  When  am  I  to  know  how  you  have  consid- 

86 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ered  me  ?  "  I  asked,  and  he  laughed  because  it 
was  all  so  unbusiness-like.  I  learned  before  long 
that  those  who  were  the  most  unbusiness-like  re- 
ceived the  politest  attention.  He  said  that  I 
might  come  early  on  the  following  morning.  He 
was  better  than  Pague,  was  not  so  old,  but  I 
didn't  think  that  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to 
marry  him.  He  was  exceedingly  neat  and  wore 
a  diamond  in  his  shirt.  That  was  encouraging. 
It  was  the  gleaming  eye  of  power — my  aunt's 
sort  of  power ;  and  I  wondered  how  much  it  was 
worth.  I  was  delighted  to  know  that  my  heart 
was  dead. 

My  aunt's  strong  mind  was  not  very  much 
pleased  when  I  told  her  of  the  manner  in  which 
my  arrangement  for  work  had  been  brought 
about.  She  said  that  I  should  have  been  more 
dignified.  "  But  I  was  as  dignified  as  he  would 
let  me  be,"  I  replied.  "  I  could  not  have  gone  in 
with  a  business  air,  never  having  had  any  experi- 
ence; and  all  I  could  do  was  to  act  as  occasion 
prompted." 

"  I  am  afraid,  however,  that  you  were  too  friv- 
olous," she  said.  "  No  matter  how  much  a  busi- 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ness  man  may  admire  beauty,  he  doesn't  wish  to 
marry  a  frivolous  girl  if  he  can  help  it." 

This  made  me  laugh,  but  I  soon  perceived  that 
she  was  in  earnest,  that  it  was  a  part  of  her  wis- 
dom. 

"  But  I  didn't  go  in  expecting  to  marry  him," 
I  said. 

"  Of  course  not,  my  dear,  but  we  ought  always 
to  be  prepared " 

"  For  the  worst,"  I  suggested ;  and  now  she 
laughed,  but  not  for  long.  Mirth  with  her  was 
never  more  than  momentary.  "  I  will  go  down 
with  you  to-morrow  and  see  that  you  start  in 
right,"  she  said.  "  A  great  deal  depends  upon 
that,  you  know.  A  collecting  agency,  did  you 
say?  I  have  never  heard  of  a  collector  that  was 
worth  much.  However,  this  may  be  but  a  part  of 
the  business.  After  I  see  the  place  I  will  make 
all  necessary  inquiries." 

I  didn't  know  of  any  inquiries  necessary  to  be 
made,  but  I  agreed  that  she  should  go  with  me. 
So,  early  on  the  following  day  we  went  down  to 
the  collecting  agency.  Mr.  Nevum  had  not  ar- 
rived, but  my  desk  was  pointed  out  to  me,  and 
opening  it  I  busied  myself  for  a  time  with  clean- 

88 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ing  the  writing  machine.  In  this  my  aunt  took 
a  considerable  degree  of  interest,  seeming  to  re- 
gard it  as  an  agent  of  power;  and  she  looked 
about  the  room  and  passed  her  approval  on  all 
the  furniture.  After  a  while  Mr.  Nevum  came 
in,  bade  me  good  morning  and  asked  my  aunt  if 
he  could  do  anything  for  her.  She  replied  that 
she  was  there  to  introduce  her  niece,  which  ap- 
peared rather  out  of  order,  as  she  was  not  ac- 
quainted with  him,  but  he  smiled  pleasantly  over 
the  humor  of  it.  She  had  the  good  sense  not  to 
remain  long,  and  as  she  was  taking  her  leave  she 
called  me  Gypsy;  and  shortly  afterward  Mr. 
Nevum  called  me  Miss  Gypsy.  So  there  was  my 
nickname  established  with  me  in  my  first  position. 
Pretty  soon  he  began  to  dictate  letters  so  swiftly 
that  I  thought  he  must  be  trying  my  skill,  and 
sometimes  I  had  to  stop  and  request  him  to  re- 
peat. He  was  very  patient,  however,  and  when 
he  had  loaded  me  down  he  turned  to  his  own 
desk,  and,  absorbed  in  other  affairs,  did  not  seem 
to  realize  that  I  was  in  the  world.  And  those 
letters !  It  was  please  "  remit  and  escape  the  pen- 
alty," or  "  we  have  decided  that  it  is  impossible 
to  collect  without  suit,"  or  "  investigation  has 

89 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

proved  to  us  that  you  are  able  to  pay,  and  if  you 
do  not  call  at  once  we  will  proceed  to  enforce  the 
judgment  which  we  hold  against  you."  Every- 
body was  in  debt.  A  boy  was  constantly  coming 
in,  telling  Mr.  Nevum  that  some  one  wished  to 
see  him.  Sometimes  he  went  out  and  sometimes 
he  told  the  boy  to  "  show  him  in."  I  remember 
one  woman  that  gained  access  to  this,  the  tor- 
ture chamber.  She  told  a  pitiable  tale  of  hard 
work  and  of  sickness.  She  had  agreed  to  pay 
ten  dollars  a  month  on  a  debt,  but  had  failed  to 
meet  her  obligation. 

"  But  you  have  a  piano  in  the  house,"  said  Mr. 
Nevum. 

"  Yes,  but  it  isn't  mine." 

"Whose  is  it,  then?" 

"  It  belongs  to  my  daughter." 

"  Ah,  your  daughter.    What  does  she  do  ?  " 

"  She  doesn't  do  anything.  She  is  still  in 
school." 

"  Well,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  ought  to 
be  able  to  pay  ten  dollars  a  month.  This  man 
Scott  is  constantly  writing  to  us,  wondering  why 
we  don't  do  something,  and  he  is  threatening  to 
take  the  account  out  of  our  hands.  You  have 

90 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

owed  it  a  long  time  and  he  has  been  very  lenient 
with  you.  Now,  how  much  can  you  pay  a 
month?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  pay  more  than  six  dol- 
lars. My  son  went  out  on  a  strike  and " 

"  Well,  but  you  see  that's  no  fault  of  ours.  Six 
dollars.  Well,  see  that  you  pay  that  much,  and 
remember,  if  you  fail  we'll  have  to  come  after 
that  piano.  Good  day." 

I  had  heard  this  while  pretending  to  correct 
some  errors.  And  so  it  was  all  during  the  day, 
continuous  failure  to  meet  obligations,  begging 
for  more  time.  When  I  took  the  letters  to  be 
signed,  Mr.  Nevum  looked  over  them  and  nodded 
approvingly.  He  could  be  pleasant.  A  man  of 
about  his  own  age  came  in  and  they  shook  hands 
heartily  and  talked  about  duck-shooting,  when 
the  time  should  ripen;  and  as  the  man  went 
out  Nevum  followed  him  into  a  sort  of  corridor. 
I  heard  him  say,  "Where  did  you  get  her?" 
And  Nevum,  after  saying  something  that  I  didn't 
catch,  remarked,  "  Ain't  she  a  peach  ?  " 

While  he  was  talking  to  some  one  else  I  went 
to  lunch  in  a  basement  cafe  where  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  noise  and  a  large  number  of  young 

91 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

women  from  the  neighboring  offices.  Not  many 
of  them  looked  as  if  they  were  on  the  road  to 
fortune.  Many  of  them  appeared  worn,  the  older 
ones  especially,  and  I  surmised  that  they  had  to 
work  harder  than  their  younger  sisters.  Upon 
my  return,  as  I  was  passing  through  the  outer 
office,  I  noticed  a  young  and  strikingly  handsome 
man.  He  turned  from  his  desk  and  gave  me  a 
look,  and  shortly  after  I  had  sat  down  he  came 
in  upon  a  pretense  of  seeing  Mr.  Nevum,  who 
was  out. 

"  Ah,  hasn't  got  back  yet,  I  see." 

I  told  him  no,  with  a  mere  glance  at  him,  but 
he  stood  there  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
walked  over  to  the  window,  just  behind  my  chair. 
I  was  erasing  a  word  with  a  rubber.  "  You 
haven't  been  here  long,"  he  said. 

"  I  came  to-day." 

"  How  do  you  like  the  work?  " 

I  wondered  if  he  saw  that  it  was  new  to  me. 
"  I  don't  know  yet,"  I  answered. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  he  replied,  and  continued  to 
stand  near  the  window.  He  seemed  to  be  looking 
over  my  shoulder.  I  turned  my  head.  His  eyes 
were  directed  away  off,  at  the  clouds.  He  asked 

92 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

me  where  I  was  from,  and  when  I  told  him  he 
said:  'You  ought  to  go  back  there."  I  asked 
him  why,  and  he  answered :  "  This  is  no  place 
for  you." 

"  But  I  have  to  work,  don't  I  ?  " 

"  Not  this  sort  of  work.    Couldn't  you  teach  ?  " 

"  I  should  despise  it." 

"  You  will  despise  this  before  you  are  done 
with  it.  It  is  a  house  of  lies  and  extortion.  I 
wouldn't  remain  here  a  moment  longer  if  I 
weren't  in  a  way  compelled.  I  am  studying  law 
— at  night,  and  I  work  here  in  order  that  I  may 
learn  to  starve." 

'  To  starve !  "  I  repeated. 
'  Yes,  one  must  learn  to  starve  in  order  to 
practice  law  in  this  town." 

I  looked  at  him  and  he  was  smiling.  He  ap- 
peared more  like  a  Greek  statue  of  refined  mirth 
than  a  picture  of  starvation.  "  I  think  Mr. 
Nevum  will  be  back  in  a  moment,"  said  I. 

"  Is  this  an  advice  to  go  or  an  invitation  to 
remain  ?  "  he  asked,  laughing.  I  told  him  that 
he  ought  to  know,  and  perhaps  he  did,  but  he 
continued  to  remain,  while  I  flew  at  the  machine 
as  if  to  recover  the  time  that  I  had  lost  on  him. 

93 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  think  I  hear  Mr.  Nevum  coming,"  I  said,  halt- 
ing in  my  work  to  look  around  at  him;  and  we 
both  of  us  laughed;  and  in  this  laugh  there  was 
a  flying  leap  toward  friendship,  if  even  it  were 
to  stop  at  that.  I  was  dazzled  by  him,  by  the  way 
he  looked  at  me,  by  his  smile,  by  the  easy  and 
graceful  insolence  of  his  manners.  And  now,  as 
if  he  had  been  waiting  for  that  mutual  laugh,  he 
went  out. 

Nevum  came  in,  florid,  as  if  he  had  eaten  too 
much,  creaked  his  swivel  chair  by  turning  it 
about,  and  gave  me  a  few  more  letters,  all  of  a 
most  threatening  nature.  I  was  glad  when  six 
o'clock  came,  glad  to  get  out  into  the  free  air 
again,  but  I  was  pleased  to  reflect  that  I  had  done 
a  good  day's  work,  even  if  I  had  been  the  medium 
between  heartless  importunity  and  distress. 

My  aunt  asked  me  many  questions,  and  I  told 
her  all  I  knew,  except  about  the  young  man.  He 
had  said  that  he  was  preparing  to  starve,  and  I 
knew  that  she  could  find  no  interest  in  him.  That 
night  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  my  mother.  I 
thought  that  she  would  be  proud  to  know  that  I 
was  able  to  earn  a  living  for  myself. 

When  I  went  to  work  the  next  morning  there 

94 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

were  only  two  persons  in  the  office,  the  young 
man  who  had  laughed  with  me  and  an  oldish  man, 
who  called  the  young  man  Edward;  and  to  my- 
self I  called  him  by  that  name.  Nevum  came 
with  a  brisk  air  and  proceeded  to  deluge  me  with 
letters,  and  just  before  I  began  to  write  them 
on  the  machine  he  said :  "  I  suppose  that,  like 
the  rest  of  them,  you'll  be  getting  married  about 
the  time  you  get  accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the 
office." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  anything  about  it,"  I  re- 
plied, putting  in  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"  Oh,  they  never  think  anything  about  it,"  he 
said.  "  If  they  did  maybe  they  wouldn't  get  mar- 
ried." 

'  Then  I  will  think  something  about  it." 

When  a  man  laughs  he  thinks  that  in  the  eyes 
of  a  woman  he  is  irresistible.  Nevum  laughed. 
I  began  to  write,  but  he  spoke  again  and  I  turned 
toward  him.  "  I  suppose  you  attend  church  reg- 
ularly." 

"  Regularly  when  I  do,"  I  replied,  and  he 
laughed  again. 

"  Like  the  theater  better,  eh?  " 

Something  prompted  me  to  tell  the  truth.    "  I 

95 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

don't  know  but  I  do.  I  think  the  theater  is  more 
genuine.  The  church  makes  a  pretense  of  de- 
spising money,  but  despises  you  if  you  haven't 
it.  The  theater  demands  money  at  the  door,  and 
when  you  have  paid  your  way  in,  why,  you're  as 
good  as  anybody." 

"  That's  right,"  he  said.  "  But  what  caused 
you  to  come  to  such  a  conclusion?  You  haven't 
had  much  experience,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Experience  may  lie  in  what  we  hear  as  well 
'  as  in  what  we  see.  Lately  I  have  heard  a  great 
deal  about  money,  and  am  more  than  half  in- 
clined to  believe  that  it  is  the  essence  of  wisdom. 
And  when  we  talk  from  the  money  basis,  people 
may  pretend  to  dispute,  but  they  can't  argue  with 
us." 

My  eyes  were  cast  down,  for  I  had  not  wholly 
grown  out  of  the  shame  of  such  opinions;  and  I 
felt  that  he  was  regarding  me  intently.  I  looked 
up,  and  so  he  was. 

"  Women  are  a  hundred  per  cent  smarter  than 
they  used  to  be,"  he  said.  "  When  I  look  back 
it  seems  that  my  sisters  didn't  know  anything 
except  what  they  were  told.  They  didn't  think 
for  themselves,  as  girls  do  now.  But  after  all, 

96 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  don't  know  but  the  old  fashioned  idea  was  best 
for  women.  The  ignorance  and  bliss  idea  is  not 
altogether  foolish." 

"  Have  you  any  daughters?  "  I  inquired. 

"  One,  off  at  college,  or  will  be  soon.  Home 
now." 

'  Why  do  you  send  her  to  a  college  ?  Isn't  it  to 
teach  her  to  think?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is." 

"  But  I  suppose  you  want  her  to  think  for  her- 
self and  to  act  for  some  one  else." 

"Eh,  what's  that?" 

"  You  want  her  to  marry  to  please  you  and  her 
mother." 

"  By  George,  I  don't  want  her  to  marry  at  all, 
when  it  comes  to  that." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  her  an  old  maid, 
cheated  of  what  nature  intended  her  to  be  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  what  do  you  think  nature 
intended  a  woman  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  you  expect  me  to  say,  but  I 
won't  say  it.  I  could  say  to  be  a  wife  and  a 
mother,  and,  while  this  may  be  the  intention  of 
nature,  I  don't  know  that  nature  is  just  to  the 
female  sex,  either  among  men  or  animals.  Dis- 

97 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

crimination  is  never  just,  and  nature  discrim- 
inates." 

"  Nature  hasn't  discriminated  against  you,"  he 
said.  "  She  crowns  all  of  her  glories  with  the 
creation  of  a  beautiful  woman." 

I  was  beginning  to  like  him.  Was  this  the 
same  man  that  would  grind  six  dollars  a  week 
out  of  an  old  woman  who  could  not  afford  to  pay 
three?  Some  one  came  in  and  I  returned  to  my 
work. 

At  noon  I  went  down  into  the  same  restaurant 
and  hadn't  more  than  taken  a  seat  when  Edward 
came  up  to  the  table.  "  May  I  sit  here,  co-la- 
borer ?  "  he  inquired,  with  his  hand  on  the  back 
of  a  chair.  I  told  him  that  with  the  permission 
of  the  head  waiter  he  might,  and  he  smiled  and 
sat  down.  "  Heard  some  one  pay  you  a  compli- 
ment just  now,"  said  he.  "  Nevum,  speaking  to 
old  Clayton  out  in  the  office,  called  you  a  bird." 

"  I  don't  call  that  a  compliment." 

"  It  is,  coming  from  him ;  not  that  he  really 
amounts  to  anything,  but  because  as  a  general 
thing  he  doesn't  think  that  a  woman  has  any 
sense." 

98 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Still  I  don't  regard  it  as  a  compliment.  Are 
birds  thought  to  be  so  very  wise  ?  " 

"  They  have  sense  enough  to  build  nests,  and 
some  men  haven't  that  much  ability,"  he  replied, 
looking  over  the  bill  of  fare.  "  Let  me  see;  I'm 
not  looking  so  much  for  what  I  want  as  for  what 
I  can  afford.  I'm  not  a  bird,  you  understand." 

We  gave  our  orders,  and  he  sat  playing  with  a 
spoon,  and  it  seemed  to  gleam  the  brighter  in 
the  light  caught  from  his  eyes.  "  Your  name 


"Miss  Dawson,"  I  said.     "And  yours?" 

"  Somers  —  Edward,  law-student,  incompetent 
—  learning  to  starve  —  prospective  tramp.  If  I 
had  money  enough  I'd  take  you  to  the  theater." 

"  You  take  it  for  granted  that  I  would  go  with 
you." 

"  Of  course.  Aren't  you  eating  with  me  ?  I've 
gone  with  people  that  I  didn't  care  to  eat  with. 
Haven't  you?" 

His  smiling  made  his  impudence  bright.  I 
wondered  if.  I  had  ever  possessed  any  dignity. 
"  I  don't  know  what  I've  done,"  I  replied.  "  How 
long  have  you  worked  up  there?  " 

"  In  the  sweat-shop  of  the  mind  ?    Oh,  about 

99 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

three  or  four  months.  I  do  my  studying  at  night 
— beating  chaff  looking  for  grains.  I  came  from 
Kansas.  Father's  a  failure  and  mother's  a  crank. 
Got  a  short-haired  sister  and  a  long-haired 
brother.  She's  going  to  study  medicine — sister; 
think  he'll  be  a  nurse.  What  are  you  going  to 
do  next  Sunday?  " 

What  a  funny  thing  he  was.  He  made  me 
laugh — made  me  like  to  laugh.  I  told  him  that 
I  didn't  know. 

"  Give  me  your  address  and  I  may  drop  in." 

"  Indeed  you'll  not." 

"  Too  swift  for  you  ?  Well,  say  Sunday  after 
next.  By  that  time  you'll  eat  bread  out  of  my 
hand." 

"  I  think  you're  horrid.  Some  time,  as  an  ex- 
periment, why  don't  you  try  to  be  a  gentleman? 
Even  if  you  are  studying  law  it  might  be  worth 
the  attempt." 

"  You  talk  as  if  this  was  your  first  attack  on 
the  keyboard.  Where  did  you  work  last  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  gave  you  to  understand  that  this 
was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  worked." 

"  Did  you?    Then  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  But  what  difference  ought  it  to  make  ?  " 

100 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Oughtn't  to  make  any,  but  it  does.  Fault  of 
our  civilization.  I  didn't  fix  it.  It  is  not  that  I 
haven't  the  same  degree  of  respect  for  you;  I 
assure  you  of  that." 

"  But  it  is.  You  and  all  the  rest  of  the  men 
think  you  are  privileged  to  be  free  with  a  girl 
that  works.  I  should  think  that  work  ought  to 
be  the  sign  of  honesty,  but  it  isn't.  I  liked  you  at 
first,  but  I  don't  know  now  whether  I  do  or  not. 
Have  I  said  anything  or  looked  anything  that 
would  lead  you  to  believe  that  I  am — am  to  be 
made  free  with  ?  " 

"  No.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  was  because 
old  Nevum  called  you  a  bird.  You  must  have 
said  something — must  have  shown  him  that  you 
were  out  of  the  ordinary." 

"  Oh,  and  are  men  free  with  women  that  are 
out  of  the  ordinary?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  they  are.  But  after  all, 
it's  a  sort  of  a  compliment.  We  think  they  un- 
derstand. Man  may  not  try  to,  but  he  has  two 
sets  of  manners." 

'''  Well,  with  me  you'd  better  employ  the  other 
set" 

"  Good.     I  will.     Now  we  understand  each 

101 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

other.    And  I  think  you'll  find  that  there's  a  good 
deal  of  the  gentleman  about  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  have  to  look  for  it.  If  it's 
hidden  it  isn't  worth  searching  for.  It  ought  to 
be  plain.  Suppose  some  one  should  make  as  free 
with  your  sister  as  you  have  with  me.  What 
would  she  do?" 

"  Why,  she'd  say  '  cert/  and  go  ahead.  But 
she  lives  out  in  the  breezy.  The  fact  is,  Miss 
Dawson,  I  study  so  hard  at  night  that  I  like  to 
let  my  mind  play  when  the  opportunity  offers." 

He  tried  to  be  serious,  but  occasionally  his  re- 
bellious mind  would  gamble  forth  in  play.  And 
I  did  not  resent  it  as  much  as  I  pretended  to. 
Everything  about  him  spoke  of  honesty,  if  not  of 
truth ;  and  I  believed  that  he  had  sentiment.  But 
what  difference  did  that  make  to  me  ?  He  sat  not 
upon  the  throne  of  sentiment;  he  was  moneyless 
and  therefore  weak.  The  waiter  brought  the 
food  and  for  a  time  we  sat  in  silence.  He  had 
come  to  the  final  test  of  refinement,  eating;  and 
I  watched  him.  But  why  should  I  have  cared 
whether  or  not  he  were  refined? 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  girl  whose 
place  you  took,"  said  he.  I  asked  him  if  she  were 

1 02 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

pretty,  and  he  answered  that  she  was  a  fright. 
"  But  she  caught  a  fellow  with  money,"  he  added. 
"  She  had  brains,  and  what  was  more  uncommon, 
he  was  wise  enough  to  appreciate  the  fact.  It 
isn't  always  the  handsomest  girl  that  makes  the 
best  match." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  best  match  ?  " 
"What,  a  woman  ask  such  a  question? 
Money,  of  course.  That's  the  object  of  life,  isn't 
it  ?  A  woman,  living  in  dread  of  the  first  wrinkle, 
the  first  gray  hair,  races  against  time ;  and  when 
she  has  overtaken  money,  she  has  won  the  race. 
And  we  men  never  know  whether  that  sort  of  a 
woman  makes  the  best  wife  or  not.  It's  only  the 
poor  man  who  is  in  a  position  to  pass  upon  the 
real  quality  of  his  wife.  As  a  general  thing,  a 
young  girl,  particularly  if  she's  pretty,  hasn't 
any  brains.  If  the  old  chap  were  to  think  a  mo- 
ment he'd  know  that  she  was  about  the  dullest 
thing  in  the  world ;  but  he  loves  her  with  his  fail- 
ing eyes,  and  she — loves  to  be  loved.  Some  time 
ago  I  went  slumming  with  a  party,  and  the  young 
girls  giggled  over  the  moral  degradation  that 
came  under  our  view.  I  guess  the  average  young 
woman  is  hopeless.  Noble  girls,  you  may  say. 

103 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Yes,  I  suppose  so;  but  the  noblest  of  them  will 
turn  from  the  most  important  subject,  discussed 
perforce,  to  talk  with  delight  on  some  foolish 
thing,  a  ribbon  or  a  feather.  So,  I  want  to  ask 
you,  a  sensible  girl,  what  chance  is  there  for  a 
hard-working  young  fellow  who  vaguely  looks 
forward  to  a  home  of  his  own?  " 

"  How  do  I  know?  I  was  brought  up 'in  the 
country." 

"  Yes,  but  that's  where  you  find  the  most  sen- 
sible young  women." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  I  replied ;  and  neither  did 
I.  He  said  that  the  most  of  the  women  who 
wrote  for  the  newspapers  came  from  the  country, 
that  they  were  closer  to  human  nature,  in  a  quiet 
way,  and  that  was  what  the  public  demanded. 
"  But  even  on  a  newspaper,"  he  added,  "  the 
handsome  woman  has  a  better  chance  than  the 
ugly  one.  Beauty  always  looks  fresh  and  inno- 
cent, while  homeliness  carries  the  expression  of 
experience,  no  matter  how  modest  it  may  be." 

His  smiling  conveyed  but  half  belief  in  his  own 
cynicisms.  The  freshness  of  his  complexion  and 
the  clearness  of  his  eyes  spoke  of  his  own  mor- 
ality— spoke  thus  to  me,  for  my  estimate  was  set 

104 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

upon  appearances.  At  this  time  I  did  not  know 
how  long  it  took  abuses  to  show  in  the  counte- 
nance. With  the  exception  of  my  aunt,  who  had 
accused  me  of  having  read  injurious  books,  no 
one  had  spoken  to  me  on  a  subject  that  might 
bring  forward  anything  that  I  had  found  in  print ; 
and  I  wondered  if  reading  books  had  gone  out 
of  fashion.  In  society  in  the  country,  as  frivolous 
as  it  was,  the  young  man  and  the  young  woman 
at  least  pretended  to  have  read  certain  books.  I 
can  recall  many  an  evening  when  we  thought  a 
conversation  literary  that  involved  merely  the 
titles  of  books  that  scarcely  any  of  us  had  read. 
But  this  young  man  had  mentioned  no  book.  The 
titles  even  had  been  dropped.  I  asked  him  what 
he  was  reading  and  he  replied,  "  Storey  on 
Agency."  I  replied  that  I  had  not  read  it,  and 
asked  him  if  it  were  good.  He  laughed  and  said 
that  it  was  so  considered.  It  was  a  law  book. 

I  liked  his  eyes  when  he  poured  them  into  mine. 
It  did  seem  that  he  poured  them,  in  a  dark  and 
glowing  stream;  and  I  was  amazed  at  myself  to 
think  that  I  was  not  embarrassed.  In  the  so- 
ciety that  I  had  known  I  should  doubtless  have 
felt  a  sort  of  shyness.  But  I  was  not  in  society 

105 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

now;  this  man  was  my  fellow  workman.  I 
glanced  at  a  clock.  My  time  was  spent  and  I 
arose  to  go.  He  reached  for  my  check,  but  I 
would  not  permit  him  to  pay  for  me.  We  went 
out  together,  and  as  we  were  going  up  the  steps, 
my  hand  on  the  brass  railing  touched  his.  I 
might  have  shaken  hands  with  him,  without  a 
thought  or  a  feeling,  but  this  simple  and  acci- 
dental touch,  thrilled  me. 


106 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  SEX  TO  SEX  TALK. 

My  aunt  investigated  the  financial  standing  of 
Nevum  and  reported  to  me  that  he  was  not  avail- 
able. I  replied  that,  inasmuch  as  he  had  a  wife 
and  a  daughter  about  grown,  I  did  not  believe  he 
was.  "  I  mean  in  case  anything  should  happen," 
she  said.  Of  course  she  did  not  expect  that  any 
one  would  get  a  divorce  to  marry  me,  simply  be- 
cause I  needed  money ;  and  yet  she  wanted  to  feel 
assured  that  in  the  vague  event  of  something 
taking  place,  there  should  be  money  enough  to 
render  it  interesting.  She  was  a  sort  of  a  carica- 
ture of  a  desire  for  wealth.  She  had  mused  over 
money  until  she  was  an  exaggeration. 

In  due  time  I  received  a  letter  from  my  mother 
in  answer  to  the  one  in  which  I  had  told  her  of 
my  independence,  but  in  it  there  was  not  much 
of  congratulation.  "  If  everything  were  not  so 
dull  and  stupid  here  I  would  advise  you  to  come 
home,"  she  said.  "  Sufficient  time  has  elapsed  for 

107 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

you  to  meet  me  without  embarrassment — I  hope." 
Bless  her,  I  had  never  thought  of  meeting  her 
with  embarrassment.  "  The  Peytons  are  very 
important  since  their  daughter  married  rich,"  she 
went  on ;  "  and  several  days  ago  I  took  the  occa- 
sion to  remind  the  mother  that  my  daughter  might 
have  had  him  and  that  I  could  have  been  talking 
of  coal  mines.  And  she  has  had  the  impudence 
to  circulate  the  report  that  Pague  was  the  one 
that  backed  out,  and  that  to  hide  your  humiliation 
you  ran  away  to  your  aunt.  This  was  the  rea- 
son that  I  reminded  her  of  the  truth.  But  I 
shall  never  recover  from  your  foolish  caper. 
Pague  won  his  lawsuit  and  has  returned  to  Chi- 
cago with  his  wife,  as  you  doubtless  know  by  this 
time.  You  may  say  what  you  please,  but  I  know 
that  Olive  is  a  happy  woman.  Whenever  you  feel 
disposed  to  come  home,  do  so ;  and  I  hope  by  that 
time  the  report  circulated  by  that  snob  of  a 
woman  will  have  died  out.  But  false  reports  live 
a  long  time." 

And  so  Olive  and  her  husband  had  returned. 
I  wondered  why  she  had  not  let  me  know.  Could 
it  be  that  she  had  heard  that  I  had  gone  to  work 
and  was  ashamed  of  me? 

1 08 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Gradually  Nevum  grew  confidential.  One  day 
he  asked  me  to  lunch  with  him.  I  didn't  know 
whether  to  go  or  not,  and  I  hesitated.  "  I  have 
something  that  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about 
and  can't  spare  the  time  here,"  he  said;  and  I 
arose  to  go  with  him.  Edward  came  to  the  door 
at  that  moment,  and  he  looked  hurt,  I  thought; 
but  then  he  had  no  claim  on  me.  We  did  not  go 
to  the  basement  restaurant,  but  to  a  cafe  high 
from  the  ground.  There  was  a  thick  carpet  on 
the  floor  and  there  was  no  noise.  The  waiters 
talked  in  whispers.  The  girl  at  the  cashier's 
desk  looked  at  me,  then  at  Nevum  and  smiled. 
Nevum  startled  me  by  asking  the  waiter  if  he 
had  canvass-back  duck.  The  waiter  said  that 
they  were  out  of  season.  "  I  ought  to  have  known 
that,"  replied  Nevum.  Then  he  asked  me  what 
I  should  like,  and  I  said  that  anything  would 
suit.  He  replied  that  anything  was  the  hardest 
order  a  restaurant  could  be  called  on  to  fill.  He 
ordered  quail  and  something  else,  I've  forgotten 
what,  some  little  something  that  added  frivolity 
to  his  character,  I  thought;  and  then  he  asked 
if  I  wished  champagne.  I  replied  that  it  would 
hinder  my  work.  "  There  isn't  much  to  do  this 

109 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

afternoon,"  he  said.  But  I  declined.  An  orches- 
tra struck  up  off  amid  some  palms,  soft  and  low ; 
and  I  thought  of  Edward,  that  I  should  like  to 
see  his  eyes  under  the  influence  of  music;  and  I 
was  musing  when  Nevum  said :  "  The  homely 
lot  of  girls  we  have  had  in  our  office  have  passed 
into  a  joke  at  my  expense.  As  a  general  thing 
the  pretty  girl  is  inclined  to  slight  her  work. 
Beauty,  like  anger,  has  a  privilege.  So  I  thought 
I'd  try — one  of  the  other  sort,  this  time."  He 
looked  at  me  and  smiled,  and  I  was  ashamed, 
somehow.  It  must  have  been  because  the  cashier 
girl  had  smiled.  I  replied  that  I  hadn't  enough 
beauty  to  establish  a  privilege,  and  he  replied  that 
what  I  lacked  in  beauty  I  made  up  in  wit.  "  And 
this  was  what  surprised  me,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
one  thing  to  be  handsome,  but  it  is  another  thing 
to  have  a  mind.  With  beauty  nature  may  compli- 
ment, but  with  a  mind  she  endows." 

Was  this  the  collector  of  bad  debts?  That 
something  which  had  appeared  as  age  now  seemed 
the  maturity  of  intelligence  and  of  thought.  I 
noticed  that  his  forehead  was  broad,  that  his  nose 
was  of  the  dominating  type.  His  mouth  was 
broad  and  firm.  He  was  almost  handsome. 

no 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  What  did  you  wish  to  talk  to  me  about?  "  I 
inquired. 

'  Just  to  talk.  Just  to  rest.  But  do  you  know 
that  I  secretly  wished  that  you  would  refuse  to 
come  with  me?  " 

"  It  was  because  you  wanted  me  to  compel  you 
to  respect  me  more." 

"  Yes,  that  was  it." 

"  I  was  on  the  point  of  refusing,  but  it  seemed 
so  like  a  sort  of  entreaty;  and  besides  I  saw  no 
particular  harm  in  it." 

"  Only  that  I  am  a  married  man." 

"  Yes,  and  the  harm  is  not  so  much  to  me  as 
to — your  wife,  who  would  not  approve  of  it,  and 
to  your  daughter,  who  would  despise  me." 

"  You  didn't  think  of  that." 

"  No,  not  at  the  time — I  caught  only  the 
shadow  of  it  as  it  passed  through  my  mind.  I 
ought  to  go.  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will." 

"  No,  no.  Sit  down.  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you."  I  had  arisen,  but  I  sat  down  again. 
"  What  is  it  you  wish  to  say?  " 

"  That  I  have  no  wife — I  am  a  widower."  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed.  "  But  that 

in 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

only  excuses  you,  and  leaves  me  still  a  criminal," 
said  I. 

"  Not  if  I  pardon  you." 

"  But  your  pardon  is  but  an  emphasis  of  my 
guilt." 

"  Ha,  you  are  refreshing,"  he  said.  "  You  al- 
most make  me  think." 

"Almost?" 

"  Yes.  I  could  never  quite  think,  you  know. 
Now  let  us  get  at  it  in  a  more  practical  way.  I 
have  at  some  time  or  other  gone  out  to  lunch  with 
every  girl  we've  had  in  the  office,  in  your  posi- 
tion; and  I  never  told  one  of  them  that  I  was  a 
widower.  I  was  never  called  upon  to  sooth  their 
consciences  to  that  extent." 

"  Perhaps  you  never  said  to  them  what  you 
did  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  not.  They  didn't  inspire  it.  Now 
let  us  get  at  something  else.  I  did  not  tell  you 
I  was  a  widower  to  prepare  your  mind  for  some- 
thing else.  You  understand  ?  "  I  nodded,  and  he 
went  on.  "  I  should  simply  like  to  regard  you, 
once  in  a  while,  as  a  companion.  Do  you  want  to 
know  something  about  me  ?  " 

"  If  it's  worth  hearing — yes." 

112 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  All  right.     In  the  first  place  let  me  say  that 
I  despise  the  business  I'm  in.    I  didn't  choose  it 
— forced  into  it.     I  was  a  lawyer  out  in  a  Ne- 
braska town  and  got  too  big  for  the  place.    My 
wife  outgrew  the  society.    We  were  prosperous. 
I  was  contented  to  stay  there — that  is,  if  she  had 
not  made  me  discontented.    She  wanted  to  shine, 
and  when  a  woman  thinks  she's  too  lustrous  for 
her  surroundings,  her  husband  is  a  criminal  to 
keep  her  there — she  thinks.     So,  I  formed  a  co- 
partnership with  a  man  in  Chicago  and  came 
here.      I  moved  out  of  a  puddle  and  found  myself 
in  an  ocean.     The  waves  drowned  my  oratory. 
Oratory  at  the  bar  here?    They  laughed  at  it. 
They  called  me  a  school-boy.     I  was  a  general 
practitioner.    Here  everything  was  specialized — 
office  law.     I  could  have  gone  into  the  criminal 
practice  and  still  have  thundered  before  a  jury, 
but  there  wasn't  much  money  in  it,  and  besides, 
my  wife  soon  discovered   that    it    wasn't   high 
enough — except  in  the  big  cases,  and  they  nat- 
urally went  to  men  of  reputation.     My  partner 
was  an  old  man,  feeble,  degenerating  into  talking 
about  the  cases  he  had  years  ago.    The  time  came, 
and  came  pretty  soon,  when  we  had  to  separate. 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  break  it  to  him — 
my  determination;  he  liked  to  talk  to  me — every 
one  else  had  heard  his  stories.  But  death  came 
along  and  broke  it  for  me.  Then  I  organized 
this  business.  I  never  employed  a  red  wagon. 
Do  you  know  what  that  was  ?  A  wagon  painted 
red.  It  would  drive  up  before  a  man's  place  of 
business  and  brand  him  as  a  financial  incurable. 
The  law  put  a  stop  to  it.  But  I  needed  money 
and  I  harassed  the  boys.  I  wanted  to  go  back  to 
Nebraska  and  acknowledge  my  failure,  but  my 
wife  objected.  She  was  resigned  enough  when 
she  came  to  die,  but  she  never  would  consent  to 
face  those  women  and  acknowledge  defeat." 

"  It  isn't  too  late  for  you  to  go  back  there  now, 
is  it?" 

"  Not  too  late  for  me,  but  too  early  for  my 
daughter,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  She  declares 
that  it  would  be  a  cruelty  to  take  her  out  there, 
and  so  it  would.  Her  associations  have  been 
formed  here — her  habits  conform  to  the  usages 
of  this  place;  and  so,  with  the  silken  threads  of 
affection  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot.  But  how  I 
hate  this  business." 

"If  you  didn't  I  shouldn't  think  you  had  a 
114 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

vestige  of  soul  left.  I've  often  thought  of  that 
poor  old  woman — the  one  that  owes  Scott." 

"Which  one  is  she?" 

"  The  one  who  had  not  been  able  to  keep  her 
obligation.  Let  me  see,  what  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  The  one  who  couldn't  keep  her  obligation  ? 
I  can  tell  you  her  name.  It  is  Legion.  The 
ones  that  don't  live  up  to  their  agreements  would 
make  a  multitude." 

"  But  this  one  seemed  to  be  so  much  distressed. 
And  your  agent  had  pried  about  her  house  and 
found  that  she  had  a  piano." 

Nevum  laughed.  "  Bless  you,  no.  I  didn't 
know  she  had  a  piano.  That  was  a  guess.  They 
frequently  have  a  piano,  you  know,  and  when  we 
guess  right,  we've  got  a  good  leverage.  It's  the 
envy  of  the  neighbors,  you  know,  when  a  piano 
is  moved  in,  and  the  sarcasm  when  it's  moved 
out.  We  nearly  always  collect  from  a  house  that 
has  a  young  woman  and  a  piano.  The  mother 
will  endure  almost  any  hardship  to  keep  her 
daughter  in  the  musical  swim.  Untalented  fin- 
gers can  be  trained  to  hide  the  conversational 
failings  of  a  shallow  mind,  you  know ;  and  ignor- 
ance applauds." 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  was  willing  that  he  should  talk,  which  he  did 
during  the  entire  meal.  I  was  learning  some- 
thing about  man,  about  the  tricks  and  the  nar- 
rowness of  his  business. 

"Woman's  modern  education  has  done  one 
thing  for  her,"  he  said. 

"  It  has  enabled  her  better  to  understand  man, 
and  that  is  the  reason  that  there  are  so  many  di- 
vorces," I  replied. 

"  Well,  not  only  that,"  he  spoke,  laughing, 
"  but  it  has  put  her  in  a  position  to  be  man's  com- 
panion aside  from  any  sort  of  affection  other  than 
that  which  arises  out  of  friendship.  Woman  is 
learning  to  forget  sex.  Some  of  them  have 
progressed  so  far  as  not  to  consider  marriage  the 
sole  aim  of  life.  And  I  suppose  that,  regardless 
of  the  overcomable  difference  that  nature  made 
between  man  and  woman,  you  are  almost  old 
enough  to  believe  that  they  ought  alike  to  enjoy 
the  same  privileges.  That  is  one  of  the  principles 
of  the  Woman's  Club,  I  believe.  You  don't  think 
that  a  man  ought  to  go  any  place  where  he  is 
not  willing  to  take  his  wife,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Why  should  he,  if  they  are  companions  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  thought  you  had  reached  that  age.    But 

116 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

you  haven't  yet  arrived  at  the  state  of  liberality 
which  forgives  a  woman  for  a  certain  transgres- 
sion, have  you?  Men  forgive  men,  you  know. 
The  fact  is  they  have  nothing  to  forgive.  His 
crime  rests  mainly  with  the  fact  that  he  some- 
times boasts  of  his  conquests;  and  that  is  more 
of  a  bore  than  a  crime.  Would  you  forgive  a, 
woman?  " 

"  I  might  if  no  one  else  knew  of  it." 

He  put  down  his  knife  and  fork,  wiped  his 
mouth  with  a  napkin,  and  looked  at  me.  "  That 
ought  to  be  engraved  on  the  cornerstone  of  the 
Woman's  Temple,"  said  he.  "  It  is  the  half- 
smothered  acknowledgment  of  all  your  sex." 

"  I  haven't  half  smothered  it." 

"  No,  for  you  are  a  wonder.  And  sitting  here 
looking  at  you,  I  envy  the  man  that  shall  win 
your  love.  It  will  bless  him,  for  a  time,  at  least." 

"  Why  for  a  time  at  least?  " 

"  Because  he  may  not  have  the  force  to  hold 
you.  It  is  only  the  domestic  woman  that  is  held 
completely,  or  rather  it  is  only  she  who  submits 
after  she  knows  that  she  is  superior  to  her  hus- 
band. I  don't  think  you  are  domestic." 

117 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  like  the  bouquet  better  than  the  kettle,  if 
that's  what  you  mean." 

"  That's  what  I  mean — ideality.  And  that 
costs  money.  The  poor  dream,  and  the  rich  think 
that  they  realize;  and  when  it  is  all  summed  up, 
the  poor  have  had  their  dreams  and  the  rich  have 
harvested  their  fallacies.  At  the  last  the  dreams 
are  the  more  beautiful,  but  it  takes  a  god  to  dis- 
cover it.  We  can't.  When  we  have  come  to 
know  the  real  truth  about  any  man,  we  are  in- 
clined to  pronounce  him  unnatural.  Deception 
has  become  the  real,  and  the  natural  the  unreal 
thing.  Freedom  of  speech  has  ever  been  held  as 
a  great  privilege.  That  is  man.  But  freedom  of 
thought  is  greater.  That  is  God.  Well,  I  must 
now  go  back  and  inform  Mrs.  Mulcahy  that  un- 
less she  settles  she'll  be  put  out  of  her  shanty.  By 
the  way,  I  have  a  friend  you'd  like ;  younger  than 
myself — architect.  He  has  visions  and  sees  his 
dreams  arise  in  brick.  He  sees  society  held  to- 
gether with  mortar.  He  finds  entertainment  in 
the  contemplation  of  mosaic  dispositions  and  fres- 
coed natures.  You  would  be  a  study." 

"  Is  his  wife  dead  and  has  he  a  grown  daugh- 
ter?" 

118 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  He  has  escaped.  He  is  a  bachelor — hand- 
some, graceful,  learned  and  rich." 

"  The  last  makes  him  everything/'  I  said. 

"  Frankness  clarified.  And  I  suppose  you  have 
persuaded  yourself  to  believe  it." 

"  I  ought  to.  It  was  taught  me  in  my  cradle. 
It  is  the  religion  of  my  visual  senses." 

"  I  should  think  that  with  such  notions  you 
would  be  moodier.  The  young  woman  philoso- 
pher usually  is.  In  her  opinion,  man  is  the  elder 
brother  of  the  devil,  and  she  hates  her  own  sex 
because  man  is  acknowledged  as  the  master.  I 
must  tell  Bayless  about  you — the  architect.  He 
is  a  materialized  painter.  Shall  we  go?" 

Into  the  office  I  went  shrinkingly.  I  dreaded 
Edward's  eyes. 


119 


CHAPTER  IX. 

COUSIN  GEORGE. 

Next  day  was  Saturday,  and  in  the  afternoon 
I  walked  about  alone  on  the  grounds  of  the  great 
Fair.  The  weather  was  perfect,  mellowing  into 
the  serious  glory  of  autumn.  The  sky  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  dipped  into  the  lake,  to  arise  a 
deeper  blue.  In  the  soft  air  there  was  music, 
more  than  half  a  dream — a  day  when  everything 
seems  at  a  distance,  with  a  softened  sun  gauze 
between.  I  could  imagine  myself  in  any  country 
except  my  own.  Here  were  uniforms  from  the 
court  of  the  Sultan.  Mystics  had  brought  the 
strange  religions  of  the  earth  to  compare  them 
with  a  religion  which  to  them  was  strange  and 
barbarous.  It  was  a  time  to  dream  of  the  past, 
and  through  half  shut  eyes  to  catch  glimpses  of 
the  sweeter  part  of  the  future.  I  sat  on  a  bench 
near  the  water.  The  gulls  were  freighting  sun- 
beams on  their  backs,  throwing  them  at  my  feet. 
Suddenly  I  heard  a  voice  near  me,  speaking  low. 

1 20 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

In  it  was  a  remembered  note,  and  I  looked  toward 
a  bench  not  far  away,  and  there  sat  Olive  and  a 
young  man.  Instantly  I  arose  and  approached 
them.  Olive  saw  me  and  started,  I  thought.  But 
she  sprang  up  and  "cried  out  that  she  was  de- 
lighted to  see  me.  And  then  she  introduced  the 
young  man,  her  cousin  George,  from  Ohio.  He 
blushed  and  bowed  to  me. 

"  Oh,  I  am  ever  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Olive, 
when  I  had  sat  down.  "  I  was  coming  over  to 
your  house  when  I  received  a  note  from  Cousin 
George."  "  Cousin  George  "  said  yes,  and  Olive 
continued:  "  I  told  you  I  was  coming  back  be- 
fore the  Fair  was  over.  But  Mr.  Pague  was  not 
hard  to  manage.  He  is  such  a  dear.  And  he  has 
taken  such  a  liking  to  Cousin  George." 

I  was  young  and  inexperienced,  but  I  knew 
that  "  Cousin  George "  was  none  other  than 
Charley.  "  And  you've  got  to  go  down  to  the 
hotel  to  dine  with  us,  hasn't  she,  Cousin 
George  ?  " 

"  Cousin  George  "  said  something  that  sounded 
like  "  by  all  means."  I  think  he  was  going  to  ask 
me  if  I  liked  to  dine,  when  another  thought  came 
into  his  mind,  and  then  he  inquired  if  I  liked  the 

121 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Fair.  I  told  him  that  I  was  charmed  with  it, 
and  he  remarked  that  he  supposed  so. 

"  How  fortunate  that  you  found  us,"  said 
Olive.  "  And  your  dear  aunt.  I  hope  she's  well. 
Oh,  you  have  no  idea  how  stupid  West  Virginia 
was  when  I  returned.  But  everybody  was  so 
glad  to  see  me.  Friends  are  so  kind  when  they 
know  we  are  prosperous." 

"  Cousin  George  "  soon  found  his  part  in  the 
drama  and  began  to  play  it.  "  All  of  my  people 
were  a  good  bit  astonished  when  they  heard 
Olive  was  going  to  marry — Mr.  Pague,"  he  said. 
"  Not  that  they  had  anything  against  Pague,  you 
know.  They'd  like  him,  I'm  sure.  I  met  him 
yesterday  for  the  first  time.  I  came  across  Olive 
by  accident,  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel,  and  shortly 
afterward  he  came  in.  Got  a  good  business  head 
on  him,  I  should  think." 

'  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Olive.  "  And  you  can  see 
that  he  is  very  kind  to  me." 

I  could  see  it.  And  George  said  that  he  could, 
too,  and  I  suppose  he  meant  it.  He  was  rather 
a  handsome  young  fellow,  slender,  with  a  small 
neck  and  a  large  collar.  He  tried  to  talk  in  a 
deep  voice.  He  would  look  you  straight  in  the 

122 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

eye,  but  it  was  more  of  a  determination  than  an 
unconscious  frankness.  His  eyes  were  blue,  but 
did  not  appear  strong,  and  he  winked  a  great 
deal.  He  wore  low-quarter  shoes  and  purple 
stockings,  and  I  thought  that  he  must  be  a  good 
tennis  player.  His  straw  hat  was  encircled  by 
a  pink  band.  His  mustache  was  light  and  silken ; 
the  silk-worm  did  not  appear  to  have  completed 
the  work. 

"  You  and  Cousin  George  will  soon  feel  that 
you  have  known  each  other  for  years,"  said 
Olive.  "  He  is  so  easy  to  get  acquainted  with. 
I  was  so  thoroughly  convinced  of  this  that  I  told 
Mr.  Pague  that  you  had  know  each  other  al- 
most from  childhood.  Isn't  that  a  good  joke? 
And  you'll  humor  it,  of  course.  I  do  so  much 
enjoy  having  a  joke  on  Mr.  Pague.  He  is  so 
lacking  in  a  sense  of  humor,  you  know.  Yes,  and 
when  we  go  to  the  hotel  you  say  George  and  he'll 
say  Gypsy.  Won't  that  be  fun?  He  is  engaged 
to  a  beautiful  girl  in  Cincinnati,  so  you  see  you 
are  safe  with  him." 

I  thought  that  she  said  this  to  make  it  safe 
for  herself.  "  Come  on,"  she  added,  "  and  let 
us  go  through  the  Art  Palace." 

123 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

F'or  a  long  time  we  looked  at  the  pictures. 
Sometimes  Olive  and  George  would  stand  with 
their  heads  close  together,  to  admire  a  painting, 
a  better  view  of  which  could  have  been  obtained 
from  the  further  side  of  the  room.  When  close 
together  they  were  silent.  When  apart  they 
chatted. 

We  came  out  into  the  twilight.  Olive  was  ex- 
cited. She  did  not  know  it  was  nearly  so  late, 
she  said.  She  wanted  to  hasten  to  the  hotel,  but 
I  told  her  that  I  could  not  make  one  of  the  com- 
pany unless  she  agreed  to  go  with  me  to  my  aunt's 
house.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should  explain 
the  cause  of  my  not  coming  home  to  dinner.  She 
consented,  but  urged  me  to  hurry.  Dinner  was 
ready  when  we  arrived  at  my  home.  Aunt  Elinor 
sought  to  persuade  George  and  Olive  to  remain 
and  to  grace  her  table  with  their  company,  but 
Olive,  and  much  excited,  too,  I  thought,  declared 
that  it  would  be  impossible.  So  I  went  to  the 
hotel.  Old  Pague  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
room.  Upon  seeing  me  he  appeared  to  be  re- 
lieved of  a  deep  trouble.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I'm 
delighted  to  meet  you  again." 

Perhaps  he  was. 

124 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  George  was  so  anxious  to  see  her  that  we 
went  to  her  house,"  said  Olive. 

"  It's  been  some  time  since  I  saw  Gyp/'  George 
remarked.  "  We  used  to  play  together,  you 
know." 

"  So  I  understand,"  Pague  remarked.  "  Let's 
go  to  dinner." 

At  the  table  Olive  was  very  sweet  to  Pague. 
She  wanted  every  one  to  observe  how  fond  she 
was  of  him.  At  this  he  smiled  and  was  pleased. 
And  yet  men  talk  about  the  weakness  and  the  van- 
ity of  women.  The  old  fool  believed  that  she  loved 
him — for  himself.  Vanity  has  its  rewards  and 
is  deserving  of  its  punishments.  I  was  party  to 
a  deception,  to  an  immorality ;  and  yet  I  was  not 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  enjoyed  it. 

In  the  room,  after  dinner,  Pague  was  disposed 
to  nod.  Olive  asked  him  if  he  didn't  want  to  go 
to  the  theater,  and  he  shuddered.  "  Ah,"  she 
said,  "  I  know  you  must  be  tired.  It  would  be 
cruel  to  drag  you  out.  Gypsy,  suppose  you  and 
George  and  I  go." 

Pague  said  that  he  wasn't  very  tired.  He 
would  go.  It  had  been  a  long  time  since  George 
had  seen  me,  his  playfellow,  and  doubtless  he 

125 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

had  much  to  say  to  me,  but  he  walked  with  Olive. 
Pague  and  I  were  some  distance  behind.  "  Seems 
to  be  a  very  nice  young  chap/'  said  Pague.  I 
said  that  he  was.  "  Her  aunt's  son — first  cou- 
sin," said  Pague.  "  Her  Aunt  Molly's  son,"  I  re- 
plied ;  and  this  lie  tickled  me  immensely.  He  was 
not  jealous.  I  understand  that  old  men  are  not, 
as  a  general  thing.  They  have  too  much  confi- 
dence in  themselves.  But  Olive  pretended  to  be 
jealous  of  me,  and  Pague  looked  as  if  he  had  just 
won  another  law  suit.  "  But  all  the  same,"  said 
Olive,  "  I'm  coming  out  Thursday  evening  to 
stay  all  night  with  you." 

"  I'll  hold  you  to  your  promise,"  said  I. 

"  You  don't  have  to  hold  me.  I'm  willing 
enough.  We  haven't  had  our  long  talk  yet.  I 
want  to  tell  you  of  our  plans." 

We  were  now  going  in  at  the  door  of  the  the- 
ater. 

Olive  sat  beside  her  husband,  and  I  saw  her 
squeeze  his  hand.  "  Most  remarkable  little 
woman,"  he  whispered  to  me.  The  play  was  writ- 
ten around  an  intriguing  woman  who  deceived 
her  husband.  Olive  whispered  that  it  was  shame- 

126 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

less.  Pague  declared  it  unnatural.  George  tried 
to  yawn,  but  was  keenly  interested. 

After  the  performance  we  went  to  supper. 
Olive  walked  with  her  "  cousin."  Pague  told  me 
how  happy  he  was.  "  My  friends  advised  me  not 
to  marry  a  young  girl,"  he  said.  '  They  declared 
that  at  most  she  would  give  me  a  sort  of  daugh- 
ter love.  But  Olive  and  I  are  as  happy  as  if  I 
were  twenty  years  younger." 

No  matter  how  old  a  man  may  be  he  talks  of 
being  twenty  years  younger.  He  held  back  and 
let  them  walk  quite  a  distance  in  advance  of  us. 
I  knew  that  he  wanted  to  say  something.  Pretty 
soon  he  began :  "  I  was  desperately  cast  down 
when  you — left  home,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  you 
could  learn  to  love  me,  as  Olive  has  done,  but 
women  are  differently  constituted.  She  doesn't 
seem  to  be  any  warmer,  but  I  suppose  she's  more 
affectionate  than  you  are.  You  ought  to  see  a 
pair  of  slippers  she  worked  for  me — with  her 
own  hands.  Still,  I  could  have  been  happy  with 
you." 

I  broke  out  laughing.  Slippers — and  happi- 
ness with  me !  He  asked  me  what  I  was  laughing 
at.  "  Something  the  comedian  said,"  I  replied. 

127 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  you  were  fhe  judge  as  to  whether  or  not 
we  could  be  happy  together,"  he  went  on.  "  It 
was  not  for  me  to  say." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  be  happy  with  any  one," 
I  replied. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  assented.-  And  then  he 
said:  "  Ah,  and  I  trust  you  will  not  take  offense 
when  I  remark  that  Olive  is  better  suited  to  me." 

"  Not  at  all,  for  I  think  she  is.  She  is  more 
thoughtful  than  I  am." 

"  Well,  let  us  say,  soberer  and  better  devel- 
oped," he  replied.  I  said  that  I  thought  she  must 
be  better  developed. 

After  supper  Olive  declared  that  I  should  go 
home  in  a  carriage.  "  It  is  a  long  way,  but  we 
won't  mind  riding  any  distance  to  accommodate 
an  old  friend,  will  we  dear  ?  "  This  remark  was 
addressed  to  Pague.  His  countenance  fell.  He 
said  that  he  didn't  suppose  that  I  would  object 
to  going  alone.  Olive  spoke  up  before  I  could 
open  my  lips.  "  Oh,  that  would  never  do,"  she 
said.  "  I  know  you  are  tired,  dear,  but  really — 
well,  you  understand.  A  young1  lady  going  about 
alone  this  time  of  night  wouldn't  look  well;  and 
I'm  sure  her  aunt  would  never  forgive  me.  Cou- 

128 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sin  George,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  You 
never  cared  for  me  as  much  as  you  did  for  Gypsy, 
but — I  was  going  to  say  that  you  could  go  and 
come  back  with  me.  And  dear,  you  can  go  to 
the  hotel,  for  you  have  been  busy  all  day.  Gypsy, 
I  never  saw  a  man  that  could  stand  as  much.  But 
there's  a  limit  to  any  one's  strength.  Will  you 
go  with  me,  Cousin  George  ?  " 

George  said  that  perhaps  he  could.  "  But  I 
want  to  get  back  to  my  hotel  in  time  to  write  a 
letter  to  my  mother  to-night,"  he  added.  "  I've 
got  a  good  deal  to  tell  her,  too — about  how  happy 
you  are,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  She  used  to 
laugh  at  you,  you  remember,  when  you  said  you'd 
never  marry  a  boy.  But  dad  used  to  applaud 
when  you  said  you'd  not  marry  any  but  a  mature 
man  of  brains.  If  you  start  right  away  I  guess  I 
can  go." 

Pague  asked  how  far  it  was.  Olive  made  the 
distance  twice  as  great.  The  old  man  looked  at 
me.  He  was  ashamed  not  to  let  her  have  her 
way.  So  Olive,  George  and  I  got  into  a  carriage. 
For  a  few  moments  Pague  stood  at  the  door.  She 
leaned  over  and  whispered  to  him.  She  must 
have  asked  him  if  she  were  unworthy  of  trust. 

129 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

He  shut  the  door  and  we  drove  off,  Olive  and 
George  on  the  front  seat.  Her  vivacity  had  de- 
parted. They  were  close  together  and  were 
silent.  Occasionally  I  broke  the  silence  with  a 
word.  Sometimes  neither  of  them  answered. 
Once  Olive  replied:  "  Oh,  did  you  speak,  dear? 
I  was  thinking  about  the  plans  of  a  house  Mr. 
Pague  intends  to  build." 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  my 
aunt's  house  Olive  said  that  she  was  surprised  at 
the  shortness  of  the  distance.  "  Why,  Mr.  Pague 
could  have  come  just  as  well  as  not,"  she  said. 
George  replied:  "Yes,  think  he  could."  They 
bade  me  good  night,  and  when  the  carriage  had 
turned  about  I  heard  George  say  to  the  driver: 
'  You  needn't  be  so  infernally  swift  going  back." 

My  aunt  came  up  to  my  room.  "  Who  is  the 
fellow  with  her  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  She  says  that  he's  her  Cousin  George." 

"  Bah.  Did  you  ever  see  him  before  ?  "  I  told 
her  the  truth,  that  I  had  not.  "  Do  you  know 
what  I  think?  I  think  old  Pague's  a  fool,"  she 
declared,  slowly  shaking  her  head. 


130 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SCOUNDREL,  MONEY. 

Nevum's  letters,  when  again  I  took  up  my 
work,  threatened  at  least  half  a  dozen  unfortu- 
nates with  the  penitentiary.  One  woman  had,  he 
declared,  obtained  money  under  false  pretenses, 
and  he  was  doing  her  a  kindness  to  let  her  know 
that  unless  she  settled  immediately,  something  of 
a  very  embarrassing  nature  might  happen.  "  Let 
me  see,"  he  said,  when  I  had  turned  to  the  ma- 
chine. "  Guess  I'd  better  soften  some  of  them 
down  a  little.  They  might  raise  the  question  that 
I  had  used  the  United  States  mail  for  threatening 
purposes.  The  government  is  rather  skittish  in 
that  way." 

He  softened  some,  hardened  others,  and  then 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  like  a  man 
who  deserved  self  satisfaction  in  the  knowledge 
that  he  had  done  a  good  forenoon's  work.  After 
a  while  he  came  over  and  stood  near  my  desk. 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  You  have  impressed  me  as  a  girl  who  believes 
that  a  man  and  a  woman  can  be  friends." 

"  The  same  quality  that  makes  them  enemies, 
if  they  have  been  such,  ought  to  make  them 
friends,"  I  replied,  halting  in  my  work,  for  I 
knew  that  he  wanted  to  talk  and  I  was  willing 
enough  to  humor  him. 

"  That  was  very  well  said.  You  know  that  at 
my  age  a  man  ought  to  be  practical,  if  formerly 
htf  has  been  foolish,  and  foolish  if  formerly  prac- 
tical. I  don't  mean,  of  course,  that  he  ought  to 
be,  but  that  unfortunately  he  is.  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  understand  you  clearly." 

"  I  suppose  not.  You  know  that  in  talking  to 
a  speculative  woman  a  man  shouldn't  be  very 
clear.  In  order  to  keep  himself  interesting  he 
must  perplex  her  a  little — just  a  little.  He  must 
engage  her  mind,  and  a  woman's  mind  is  never 
very  much  engaged  with  things  that  can  be  seen 
through  at  a  glance." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  I  replied. 

"  But  it's  a  fact." 

He  was  making  free  with  me;  I  would  make 
free  with  him.  "  Then,"  said  I,  "  you  think  that 

132 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

with  a  certain  sort  of  vagueness  you  have  en- 
gaged my  mind  and  interested  me." 

"  Well,  let  me  hope  so."  He  laughed,  not  un- 
pleasantly. He  changed  his  position  slightly, 
leaned  a  little  more  on  my  desk.  "  I  think  we 
could  be  very  good  friends,"  he  said.  I  nodded 
and  he  continued :  "  It  would  be  nonsense  to 
talk  of  love  between  us."  I  nodded  again,  and  a 
flush  mounted  to  his  face,  seeming  for  a  moment 
to  redden  his  thin  and  grayish  hair.  "  This 
does  not  imply  that  I  could  not  love  you,"  he 
added,  after  a  time;  and  I  looked  up  at  him 
and  was  silent.  "  Any  man  with  a  soul  could  love 
you,"  he  said.  I  realized  that  it  was  not  much 
money  that  was  talking;  it  was  the  prattle  of 
small  change,  and  I  was  not  seriously  considering 
him.  Had  he  been  a  millionaire,  perhaps  I  should 
have  fluttered,  but  his  letters  to  "  bad  debts  "  had 
been  so  urgent  and  withal  so  distressful  that  he 
appeared  himself  to  be  in  need  of  money.  So  I 
was  calm.  "  During  your  short  term,"  he  said, 
smiling,  "  more  than  one  man  has  doubtless  loved 
you.  Am  I  right  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered.    "  I  haven't  been 
much  in  society.    I  can  recall  the  avowed  passions 

133 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

of  certain  neighborhood  boys,  but  they  don't 
count." 

"  You  remember  just  the  avowal  of  passion. 
Is  that  all?" 

"  I  remember  that  one,  in  his  frenzy,  grabbed 
me  and  kissed  me." 

"  Kissed  you.  It  wasn't  a  frenzy — it  was  an 
inspiration.  Come,  now,  I  am  your  father  con- 
fessor. Did  you  feel  outraged?  " 

"  I  liked  it.  He  was  handsome  and  his  face 
was  clean." 

Nevum  laughed  and  played  with  an  eraser  that 
lay  on  the  desk.  "  You  are  very  human,  but  does 
that  make  you  humane  ?  Are  you  sympathetic  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  I  am  envious,  and  envy  is  but  the 
opposite  side  of  sympathy." 

'  You  are  sharp  and  philosophical,  I  know 
that.  Was  your  father  a  learned  man,  a  man  of 
thought?" 

"  He  must  have  been  a  man  of  remorseful 
thought;  he  was  a  drunkard." 

"  Hum.  Whisky  leaves  its  mark  in  brightness 
or  degeneracy.  Did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  studied  the  question." 

"  I  haven't  either,  but  I  believe  it's  true.    And 

134 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

exceeding  piety  sometimes  breaks  out,  in  the  fol- 
lowing generation,  in  riotousness  and  dissipation. 
Look  at  the  children  of  preachers.  Nature  re- 
sents too  much  restraint.  It  will  not  long  put 
up  with  interference.  But  we  are  getting  off  the 
subject.  I  was  saying  that  any  one  could  love 
you." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

''  Which,  of  course,  included  myself."  He 
looked  at  me,  and  I  told  him  that  it  would  nat- 
urally seem  so.  He  laughed.  "  We  haven't 
known  each  other  very  long,"  he  said. 

"  No,  not  very." 

;<  But  here  everything  is  swift,"  he  went  on. 
"  Acquaintance,  friendship,  love — are  all  of  them 
swift.  Did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  for  any  one  to  keep  on  saying 
'did  you  know  that?'" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  is  a  foolish  habit  of 
mine.  I'll  try  to  correct  it.  But  you  have  discov- 
ered that  everything  in  this  town  is  swift,  haven't 
you?" 

'  They  say  that  divorces  are." 

"  Yes,  like  everything  else.  Er — you  couldn't 
learn  to  love  me,  could  you  ?  " 

135 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  had  to  laugh,  not  at  him  particularly,  for  he 
must  have  embodied  Chicago's  idea  of  swiftness, 
but  the  slowness  of  West  Virginia  was  not 
wholly  departed  from  me,  and  perhaps  it  was  the 
lingering  part  of  my  old  self  that  laughed. 

"  I  mean  it,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could.  You  interest  me,  but 
when  we  love  we  must  love  aside  from  all  inter- 
est, I  should  think.  I  don't  believe  there  is  any 
such  thing  as  intellectual  love.  There  is  admira- 
tion, almost  adoration — but  love,  pure  and  sim- 
ple, is  an  animal  quality." 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  notion  ?  "  he  said, 
straightening  up  and  standing  clear  of  the  desk. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  got  it  anywhere.  I  must 
have  felt  it." 

"  Then  you  think  that  love  is  simply  a  desire 
on  the  part  of  nature  to  reproduce  herself  ?  "  And 
before  I  could  answer  him,  he  added :  "I  never 
expected  to  hear  a  girl  talk  this  way.  You  must 
have  read  books  whose  very  seriousness  close 
them  for  the  majority  of  your  sex.  Then  you 
believe  that  love  is — physical,  do  you?" 

'  Well,  the  reflex  of  the  physical  acting  upon 
the  something  we  call  sentiment,  which  of  itself  is 

136 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

likewise  physical.  If  it  were  not,  why  are  older 
people  less  sentimental  ?  " 

"  You  are  strong  enough  to  be  a  George  Eliot 
— to  defy  society." 

"  She  wasn't  strong  enough.  She  only  thought 
she  was;  and  in  that  she  wasn't  any  stronger 
than  the  average  woman  who  wants  her  own  way 
— and  has  it.  But  why  do  you  speak  of  George 
Eliot?  Didn't  she  love  the  man  she  lived  with?  " 

"  Yes,  despite  society." 

"  But  that  wasn't  strength,"  I  insisted.  "  It 
would  require  more  strength  in  a  woman  not  to 
live  with  the  man  she  loves — but  the  greatest 
strength  of  all  would  be  to  live  with  one  she 
didn't  love." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  assented,  looking  straight 
into  my  eyes.  "  Then  you  couldn't,  in  justice  to 
yourself,  marry  me  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

He  smiled.  "  I  always  thought  it  easy  enough 
to  get — well,  to  get  around  a  woman  of  marked 
intelligence,  for  they  can  be  reasoned  with;  but 
you  are  hard." 

"  I  don't  think  so,  Mr.  Nevum.  You  spoke  the 
other  day  of  forgetting  sex.  That's  what  I  have 

137 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

done.  I've  talked  to  you  just  as  if  we  were  both 
men." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  Well,  say  that  you  wouldn't 
marry  me — would  you  in  any  way — I  hardly 
know  how  to  put  it." 

"  Perhaps  a  thing  that  you  don't  know  how  to 
put  ought  not  to  be  put." 

"  But  since  we  are  talking  so  frankly  and  un- 
derstand each  other  so  well,  there  can  be  no  par- 
ticular harm  in  it.  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  in 
any  way  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to  a  rela- 
tionship closer  than  that  of  friendship?  Could 
you?" 

I  did  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  him.  I 
shook  my  head.  At  that  moment  a  boy  came  in 
and  handed  a  card  to  Nevum.  "  Oh,  tell  them  to 
come  in,"  he  said,  going  toward  the  door.  Three 
men  were  in  the  waiting  room.  They  came  in 
and  shook  hands  with  Nevum.  Two  of  them 
were  elderly.  The  other  was  comparatively 
young,  grave  of  countenance  and  with  a  mechan- 
ical smile  that  made  him  more  serious.  He  was 
a  preacher.  He  began  to  talk  about  the  church 
debt.  Nevum  was  deeply  interested.  "  You  are 
the  man  to  finance  this  scheme,"  said  the 

138 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

preacher.  The  other  two  men  nodded  their 
heads.  Nevum  hemmed  and  hawed.  He  had 
felt  the  heavy  obligation  under  which  the  church 
was  groaning,  he  said,  sighing.  "  And  to  lift 
that  debt  would  be  the  pride  of  my  life,"  he  added. 
"  If  we  could  only  induce  the  younger  members 
to  become  more  interested.  Ah,  the  church  isn't 
what  it  was,  my  dear  brothers.  There  is  not  that 
earnestness,  that  fervor  that  once  characterized 
it."  The  others  had  sat  down?  Nevum  stood, 
slowly  pressing  the  ends  of  his  fingers  together 
and  then  pulling  apart  as  they  were  glued.  "  I 
think  that  this  fall  we  ought  to  have  an  old-time 
revival.  That  would  have  a  great  moral  force." 

It  was  now  noon-time  and  I  went  out  to  lunch, 
leaving  them  deep  in  their  pious  talk.  To  me  it 
was  not  a  matter  of  surprise  that  Nevum  should 
turn  with  such  ease  from  our  free  discussion  to 
the  moral  restrictions  of  the  church.  Insight  is 
a  matter  of  birth,  as  well  as  of  education  and  ex- 
perience, and  I  knew  that,  like  the  most  of  men, 
he  was  only  true  to  the  minute  and  the  occasion. 

Edward  was  not  in  the  office  as  I  passed  out, 
but  just  as  I  sat  down  at  a  table  in  the  basement 
restaurant  he  came  forward  and  asked  permis- 

139 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sion  to  spend  the  lunch  hour  in  my  company.  I 
laughingly  replied  that  the  place  was  free.  After 
looking  so  long  into  the  harassed  countenance  of 
Nevum,  how  fresh  and  how  handsome  was  this 
young  man,  free  from  the  taint  of  Chicago  and 
its  swiftness.  His  laugh  was  music.  His  eyes 
were  music,  just  hushed,  when  the  strains  so  live 
that  we  imagine  we  can  see  them. 

"  The  old  man's  entertaining  a  church  com- 
mittee, I  believe,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  he  is  going  to  lift  the  debt." 
"  Well,  if  it's  a  bad  debt  he  can  come  near  it, 
I  guess.    Has  he  asked  you  to  marry  him  yet?  " 
"  What  a  question.    Is  that  his  habit?  " 
"  I  don't  know  whether  you'd  call  it  his  habit 
or  his  nature.    Now  let's  see  what  they've  got  in 
this  foundry.  "    He  handed  me  the  bill  of  fare. 
And  after  the  orders  had  been  given  he  said :    "  I 
got  a  letter  from  my  short-haired  sister  out  in 
Kansas,  and  she  informs  me  that  she's  going  to 
marry — some  sort  of  a  reformer,  I  believe."  But 
he  laughed  in  a  way  that  showed  he  was  not  cyn- 
ical ;  his  was  a  good  humor  with  just  enough  acid, 
a  cranberry  sauce.    He  had  about  him  the  care- 
lessness that  showed  the  carefulness  of  educa- 

140 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

tion.  He  had  not  the  hard  precision  of  the  self- 
made  man.  His  graces  had  grown  up  with  him, 
and  unlike  the  graces  of  an  education  later  in 
life,  seemed  every  one  of  them  to  fit  and  to  show 
off  his  unconscious  dignity.  And  to  me,  the  only 
dignity  that  has  any  charm  is  the  dignity  that 
seeks  to  undermine  and  to  overturn  itself.  How 
shapely  were  his  hands,  and  his  gestures  were  as 
silent  oratory. 

'  Your  predecessor,"  said  he,  "  told  me  that 
Brother  Nevum  wanted  to  marry  her;  and  she 
may  have  thought  so,  but  I  don't  think  the  old 
fox  wants  to  marry.  You  never  saw  his  daugh- 
ter, did  you?  She's  a  whip;  she  pops.  And  I 
guess  she's  looking  forward  to  the  time  when 
she'll  make  some  man  miserable.  Yes,  rather 
handsome  sort  of  a  crushed  berry  mouth — not 
unlike  yours,  by  the  way.  But  this  is  not  saying 
that  you  are  to  make  any  one  miserable.  You 
could  make  some  fellow  deucedly  happy — if  it 
weren't  against  the  present  day  religion  of 
women.  Nevum's  daughter  makes  him  toe  the 
mark;  she  makes  a  prod  of  her  affection  for  him, 
or  rather  of  his  love  for  her.  And  I  guess  he 
does  love  her.  Don't  think  I  could." 

141 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  has  any  one  asked  you  to  love  her  ?  Must 
a  girl  be  gauged  by  the  fact  that  you  could  or 
couldn't  love  her  ?  " 

"  No,  not  as  to  the  public,  but  yes,  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned;  and  it's  my  concern  that  shapes 
her,  after  all.  When  this  girl  gets  through  her 
Vassarization,  so  to  speak,  the  old  man  can't  live 
in  the  same  block  with  her.  I  suppose,  however, 
that  you  advocate  higher  education  for  women." 

"  I've  never  had  enough  of  it  to  know  what  it 
tastes  like,"  I  replied.  "  But  it  seems  to  make 
women  look  for  something  they  can't  find — in 
man;  and  that  is  complete  fellowship  with  them- 
selves— with  women.  Our  school  was  thought  to 
be  one  of  the  higher  sort.  I  mean  my  school 
where  I  studied  logic  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  The  only  true  logic  is  love,"  he  said.  The 
waiter  was  placing  dishes  before  us,  and  I  saw 
him  smile.  "  Did  you  understand  me  ?  "  Edward 
inquired  when  the  waiter  had  withdrawn. 

"  I  heard  you.  But  what  was  there  about  it 
to  understand  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  unless  you  think  there  is.  But  what 
does  logic  amount  to?  What  does  anything 
amount  to,  for  that  matter — anything  in  life  ex- 

142 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cept  love?  Love  moves  the  world;  not  such  as 
our  elders  would  have  us  believe,  the  cool  and  re- 
spectable sort.  But  the  bounding,  the  torrential 
love  of  two  great  souls.  And  any  soul  on  fire  is 
great." 

"  But  those  who  have  experienced  such  love 
tell  us  it  can't  live,"  I  replied,  wondering  if  it 
could. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that  is  what  the  bloodless 
tell  us." 

"  But  doesn't  there  come  a  time  when  we  are 
all  bloodless?" 

'  Yes,"  he  admitted,  for  he  had  to,  as  much  as 
he  would  have  liked  to  declare  it  untrue.  "  Yes, 
but  a  love  that  has  been  true  may  not  die  even 
then.  It  may  feed  on  beautiful  and  delicious 
memories.  My  father  and  mother  love  each 
other.  They  met  romantically,  were  married  ro- 
mantically— lived  by  hard  work  and  were  happy. 
If  they  had  married  for  money  they  might  have 
been  miserable." 

Here  was  the  old  doctrine  from  a  young  man. 
My  mother  would  have  scoffed  him;  my  aunt 
would  have  looked  upon  him  with  contempt.  But 
he  talked  from  the  depths  of  his  own  poverty, 

143 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  no  conviction  is  so  strong  as  the  one  which 
comes  not  out  of  reason,  but  which  circumstances 
have  compelled  us  to  feel.  His  ideas  seemed  as 
an  essence  from  an  old  book.  I  could  see  the 
leather  binding,  the  yellowing  pages.  But  above 
us,  in  this  mid-day,  was  an  electric  light;  and 
that  was  the  glare  of  the  revolution.  "  The 
truth  makes  you  sigh  as  if  you  regret  it,"  he 
said.  "  Are  you  sorry  that  love  is  real  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  that  it  is  not  more  fortunate,"  I 
answered.  "  Why  should  it  always  be  so  poor  ?  " 

"  Because  money  is  a  scoundrel,"  he  replied. 
"  Ah,"  he  added  sorrowfully,  looking  into  my 
eyes,  "  somebody  has  sought  to  poison  your  mind 
— and  I  don't  know  but  with  some  success,  too. 
Who  has  been  talking  to  you  ?  " 

"The  scoundrel  himself — money;  envy." 

"  Don't  say  that.  You  looked  hard  when  you 
said  it.  I  know  you've  got  a  great  soul.  Don't 
try  to  hide  it." 

"  If  I  have  a  great  soul,  which  I  doubt,  I  must 
hide  it  from  some  one — myself." 

'  You  are  the  frankest  woman  I  ever  saw.  But 
will  you  go  still  further — too  the  limit  of  such' 

144 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

opinions  and  say  that  you  wouldn't  marry  a  poor 
man?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  that  far.    I  wouldn't." 

"  Not  if  you  loved  him?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  permit  myself  to  love  him." 

"  A  woman  who  talks  of  permitting  herself  to 
love  couldn't  love,"  he  said.  I  arose  and  he  asked 
if  it  were  time  to  go.  I  yearned  to  stay  longer, 
to  hear  his  voice,  to  look  upon  his  perplexity, 
sweetened,  with  his  earnest  eyes,  but  I  told  him 
lightly  that  I  must  return  to  the  office;  and  so 
I  left  him,  with  a  glowing  sadness  in  my  heart." 


145 


CHAPTER  XL 

DID  NOT  ASK  A  QUESTION. 

I  did  not  see  Olive  nor  hear  from  her,  but  I 
remembered  that  she  was  to  spend  Thursday 
night  with  me,  and  I  waited  impatiently  for  her, 
but  she  didn't  come.  I  thought  that  perhaps 
Pague  had  hastily  decided  to  return  home,  and 
that  in  her  disappointment  she  had  forgotten  to 
write  to  me.  But  Saturday  afternoon  I  went 
to  the  hotel  and  found  her  there  in  the  parlor 
with  "  Cousin  George." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  must  see  you  at  once.  I 
have  been  thinking  for  two  or  three  days  that 
I  would  write  to  you,  but  really  I  haven't  had 
time.  George  has  kept  me  on  the  go,  haven't  you, 
George?  Let  me  see  you  out  here,  just  a  mo- 
ment." 

I  went  with  her  out  into  the  hall,  and  she  said, 
in  a  soft  and  persuasive  voice :  "  About  Thurs- 
day night — let  me  tell  you.  Now  you  won't 
think  anything  wrong,  will  you?  Why,  in  the 

146 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

evening  George  and  I  were  out  at  Evanston — to 
look  at  the  college;  and  the  first  thing  we  knew 
the  trains  had  stopped  running — something  the 
matter  with  the  road;  a  strike,  I  think  they  said. 
And  so  I  had  to  remain  until  morning,  but 
George  walked  back.  Just  think  of  it,  walked  all 
that  way.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Pague  wouldn't  be 
uneasy,  because  he  thought  I  was  at  your  house, 
so  I  didn't  telegraph  him;  and  when  I  returned 
he  took  it  for  granted  that  I  had  been  with  you, 
and  was  so  pleased  at  the  idea  that  I  didn't  un- 
deceive him.  So,  don't  let  on  that  I  wasn't  at 
your  house  for,  dear,  it  would  be  cruel  to  unde- 
ceive him  at  this  late  day,  wouldn't  it?  And  he's 
so  fond  of  you,  too." 

I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  said,  but  at 
this  very  moment  I  saw  Pague  coming  down 
the  hall.  He  held  out  his  hand  and  said  that  he 
was  delighted  to  see  me,  although  I  had  kept  his 
wife  from  him  so  long. 

"  But,  dear,  we  don't  see  each  other  very 
often,"  Olive  hastened  to  declare.  "  And  just 
think,  when  I  leave  here  it  is  no  telling  when  I 
shall  see  her  again." 

We     entered    the     parlor,     where     "  Cousin 

147 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

George  "  sat  on  a  sofa,  looking  at  the  ceiling, 
whistling  softly.  Olive  endearingly  commanded 
her  husband  to  sit  down.  She  wanted  to  see  if 
she  could  remember  a  piece  of  music  she  had 
heard  at  the  Fair;  and  going  to  the  piano  she 
played,  with  her  most  delicate  touch,  a  love  waltz. 
"  That  is  for  you,"  she  said,  turning  about  to 
smile  sweetly  at  Pague;  and  he  was  hereupon 
taken  with"  such  rapture  of  her  that  he  hastened 
to  her  and  embraced  her  as  she  sat  on  the  piano 
stool.  George  ceased  to  whistle,  and  with  his 
lips  still  pursed,  looked  on  gravely,  while  the  old 
man,  casting  a  glance  at  me,  was  happy  in  the 
possession  of  Olive,  seeming  to  say  to  me,  "  Ah, 
you  see  how  fortunate  you  made  me  when  you  ran 
away." 

George  got  up  lazily  and  said  that  it  was  time 
for  him  to  go.  Olive  asked  him  what  his  hurry 
was,  and  reproached  him  for  not  permitting  her 
of  late  to  see  more  of  his  company.  "  I  shall  tell 
my  aunt  that  you  haven't  been  very  attentive," 
said  she;  and  he  drawled  that  he  had  been  very 
busy.  "  Well,"  he  added,  "  I  may  possibly  see 
you  again  before  I  leave.  Oh,  by  the  way,  mother 
will  be  here  day  after  to-morrow.  You  must 

148 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

come  out  to  see  her.  Can  you  come  with  her,  Mr. 
Pague?" 

Olive  laughed  merrily.  "  Can  he  come?  Now, 
listen  to  that.  Don't  you  know  that,  as  good  as 
she  is,  he  would  tire  of  her  in  a  moment  and  want 
to  bring  me  away?  With  all  of  her  virtues  she 
is  beset  " — and  here  she  left  off  to  make  fondling 
motions  at  Pague — "  beset  with  a  never-ending 
desire  to  talk  about  her  ailments.  You  could  never 
put  up  with  that,  and  it  tires  me,  but  I  have  to 
stand  it.  Tell  her,  George,  that  I  will  be  out  for 
a  little  while,  but  that  Mr.  Pague  is  busy.  Dear," 
she  added,  running  her  rosy  fingers  through  the 
thin  winter  stubble  on  Pague's  head,  "  I  shall  not 
submit  you  to  any  such  weariness  as  to  listen  to 
my  aunt's  never-ending  drone  about  ill-health. 
She  says  she  knows  that  she  will  like  you  because 
you  are  old  and  can  therefore  sympathize  with 
her.  I  resented  this — yes,  when  George  told  me 
she  said  it  I  resented  it,  and  I  was  determined 
then  that  she  shouldn't  sit  up  and  talk  to  my  hus- 
band as  if  he  were  a  hundred  years  old.  I  am 
half  inclined  not  to  go  myself,  though  I  was  al- 
ways her  favorite  niece." 

"  Oh,  you'll  have  to  go,"  said  Pague.     "  It 

149 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

would  never  do  to  hurt  her  feelings.  But  I  can't 
go;  and  you  wouldn't  ask  it,  would  you?  " 

"  No,  dear,  I've  told  you  I  wouldn't."  She 
walked  off  toward  the  door  with  George,  said 
that  she  had  a  message  for  her  aunt,  and  went 
out  into  the  hall-way  with  him.  Pague  turned 
to  me  and  said  that  the  weather  was  charming, 
and  he  said  it  as  if  he  thought  it  were  a  discovery 
on  his  part  and  that  I  ought  to  give  him  credit 
for  it.  Knowing  so  well  the  part  that  Olive  was 
playing,  perhaps  it  might  have  been  the  province 
of  true  and  lofty  virtue  to  tell  him.  But  I  could 
not.  The  deception  was  amusing — shameless,  it 
is  true,  but  amusing  to  me ;  and  now  I  found  that 
in  my  own  heart  virtue  did  not  sit  arrayed  in  its 
brightest  colors.  Ah,  and  who  had  taught  me 
virtue?  Had  not  my  mother  pointed  to  money? 
Was  not  money  the  greatest  of  all  cheats,  the 
shrewdest  of  all  deceivers?  And  what  had  this 
old  man  himself  done,  except  to  teach  Olive  to 
deceive  herself  into  the  belief  that  she  could  learn 
to  love  him!  That  love  which  we  learn,  what  a 
curse ! 

When  Olive  returned  she  kissed  old  Pague — 
kissed  him  toward  the  door.  Her  constant  study 

150 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

was  to  be  rid  of  him.  And  as  I  looked  at  her  I 
mused,  "  How  you  would  like  to  kiss  him  out  of 
your  life."  He  asked  her  if  she  did  not  feel  dis- 
posed to  take  a  walk,  and  she  answered  that  she 
was  tired,  And  at  this  moment  she  looked  as 
if  she  might  aptly  have  posed  for  the  portrait 
of  weariness;  but  a  minute  later,  when  Pague 
went  out  to  meet  some  one  who  had  sent  for  him, 
she  bounded  across  the  floor,  sprang  upon  the 
sofa  and,  seizing  the  pillow,  hugged  it  in  her 
ardent  arms.  Then  over  the  pillow  she  peeped 
at  me. 

"  Olive,"  I  said,  "  you  have  made  me  a  party 
to  your  deception."  I  felt  virtuous  as  I  said  this, 
and  I  looked  hard  at  her.  She  was  greatly  sur- 
prised. "  Deception  ?  Why,  Gyp,  whatever  can 
you  mean?  You  know  I  never  deceived  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  that.  But  you  must  have  thought 
you  did." 

"  I  declare  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Don't — please  don't  think  I'm  a  fool,  Olive. 
That  fellow  is  Charley,  and  you  went  out  to 
Evanston  with  no  intention  of  returning — that 
night." 

"  Oh,  how  cross  you  are.    And  my,  how  sus- 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

picious.  When  Mr.  Pague  comes  back,  tell  him 
what  you  think.  It  will  be  such  fun — for  you. 

And  when  I  am  disgraced "    She  peeped  at 

me  from  behind  the  sofa  pillow.  I  went  over  to 
her,  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  hands  in 
mine.  "  Please  don't  lecture  me,"  she  pleaded, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Don't  call  me  weak,  for 
it  wasn't  weakness — it  was  strength — of  love. 
One  of  these  days  perhaps  you  may  know.  But 
as  long  as  you  don't,  please  don't  lecture  me. 
Don't  tell  me  what  I  ought  not  to  do  or  what  I 
should  do.  I  know  all  that  as  well  as  you  do. 
Oh,  if  you  only  knew  the  misery — day  after  day, 
night  after  night;  and  then  the  freedom — that 
nature  intended.  If  you  only  knew.  In  the  first 
place,  I  did  as  I  was  commanded.  I  was  dutiful. 
And  I  tried  to  love  him — oh,  how  hard  I  tried. 
I  tried  to  be  faithful  to  him.  But  nature — all  of 
nature,  birds,  flowers,  the  very  sun  arose  against 
it.  Now  I  have  gone  so  far  that  I  can't  be  truth- 
ful. Now  nothing  but  deception  can  be  kind." 

She  sat  up,  she  tumbled  the  pillow  upon  the 
floor,  she  looked  at  me  almost  defiantly.  "  It 
would  be  nothing  more  than  right  just  to  humili- 
ate them  all,"  she  said.  "  They  brought  it  on 

152 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

themselves.  My  shame  and  my  suffering 
amounted  to  nothing  in  their  sight.  They 
warmed  themselves  by  the  fire  that  was  consum- 
ing me.  They  reproached  me  with  my  education ; 
they  said  that  as  they  had  made  sacrifices  to  send 
me  to  school,  I  ought  to  make  a  sacrifice  in  my 
turn.  And  I  made  it.  Yes,  I  made  it,  and  shall 
continue  to  make  it,  so  far  as  they  know — as  I 
shall  permit  them  to  know.  Hush,  he's  coming/' 

She  wiped  her  eyes  and  took  up  the  pillow. 
When  Pague  entered  the  room  she  was  laugh- 
ing. "  Oh,  that's  the  funniest  thing,"  she  said. 
"  Gypsy  was  just  telling  me  of  some  of  her  ex- 
periences in  the  office." 

Pague  sat  down  and  requested  me  to  "  repeat  " 
the  story.  "  Oh,  it  wasn't  intended  for  you," 
Olive  laughed.  "  It  was  only  one  of  those  little 
feminine  things  that  wouldn't  interest  a  man." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  smiling  upon 
her.  "  What  was  it,  Miss  Gypsy?  " 

"  Nothing,  only  the  janitor  of  the  building 
came  to  me,  told  me  that  he  had  saved  up  three 
hundred  dollars  and  that  he  would  present  it  to 
me,  together  with  a  wedding  ring." 

He  laughed  and  declared  that  I  could  not  al- 

153 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ways  escape.    "  One  of  these  days  there  will  come 

along  a  fellow  to  capture  your  heart " 

"  As  you  captured  mine,"  Olive  broke  in ;  and 
he  reached  over  and  took  her  hand  and  held  it, 
looking  triumphantly  at  me.  Olive  smiled. 
"  How  I  am  sobering  down  into  an  old  and  staid 
married  woman,"  she  remarked,  shifting  the  light 
of  her  smile  from  me  to  Pague.  "  Mother  says 
she  never  saw  a  girl  change  so  fast.  And  for 
the  better,  dear,"  she  added,  as  her  husband 
patted  the  back  of  her  hand.  In  my  heart  I 
wished  that  she  would  "  kiss  him  "  out  of  the 
room.  I  had  never  found  her  so  interesting  as 
when  she  talked  of  her  misery,  for  in  it  I  heard 
the  note  of  stolen  happiness.  In  the  eye  of  the 
law,  morality — justice  to  all  others  save  herself, 
she  had  committed  a  crime.  I  knew  this,  and 
yet  I  found  it  hard  to  condemn  her.  Both  of  us 
had  been  taught  to  deceive.  We  had  been  reared 
to  believe  that  it  was  legitimate  to  exchange 
"  love  "  for  money.  Having  done  this,  how  far 
was  it  a  moral  wrong  to  exchange  love  for  love, 
passion  for  passion?  Nature  is  the  mother  of 
passion.  But  who  is  the  mother  of  avarice?  So- 
ciety. Then,  if  we  deceive  society,  we  have  taken 

154 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

advantage  of  avarice.  Virtue,  instilled  from 
birth  and  the  companion  of  the  cradle,  would 
have  shown  to  me  the  fallacy  of  this  argument. 

"  Oh,  let's  go  to  the  Fair,"  cried  Olive,  with 
the  ardor  of  an  inspiration.  She  bounded  to  her 
feet,  she  danced  in  the  vigor  of  her  glee.  She 
did  not  give  Pague  time  to  reply.  She  seized 
him  about  the  neck  to  hug  him  into  obedience; 
and  when  she  had  succeeded,  she  began  to  kiss 
him  into  another  sort  of  compliance,  to  let  her 
go,  but  not  to  accompany  her.  It  was  a  delight 
to  see  her  "  work "  him,  to  shape  him  in  her 
hands ;  and  he  smiled  and  yielded,  this  tough  old 
man  of  money.  So  Olive  and  I  went  out  together, 
and  when  we  were  in  the  street  she  gripped  my 
arm  and  cried :  "  Oh,  what  freedom." 

On  a  bench  near  the  lake  we  sat  in  the  mellow 
sunlight.  Afar  off  where  the  bands  were  playing 
there  seemed  to  be  gathering  a  storm  of  music. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  can  ever  know  what  free- 
dom means,"  said  my  companion,  dreamily  look- 
ing at  me. 

"  I  think  I  am  prepared  to  know,"  I  answered. 
"  Once  I  ran  away  from  slavery." 

155 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  slavery  that  I  now — enjoy,"  she 
laughed.  "  But  there  was  something  about  you 
that  I  didn't  possess,"  she  added.  "  You  were 
weaker,  or  stronger  or  something,  I  don't  know 
what.  And  do  you  condemn  me  very  much 
now?  "  she  asked,  with  her  eyes  turned  upon  me. 

"  I  ought  to,  Olive,  but  I  can't." 

She  nestled  closer  to  me.  She  pressed  my 
hand. 

"  If  I  am  to  be  defended,  nature  herself  must 
supply  my  argument,"  she  said.  "  Since  my  mar- 
riage I  have  read  constantly — the  bible  and  the 
moral  books  that  have  grown  out  of  it,  but  nature 
was  stronger  than  all.  My  own  intelligence  con- 
demns me.  I  know  that  I  am  not  to  blame  for  a 
temptation,  for  that  arises  unbidden  in  the  mind. 
But  when  I  yield,  I  commit  an  act  and  am  to 
blame.  In  the  night  I  have  wept  over  it ;  but  out 
in  the  sunshine  when  it  would  seem  that  my  error 
would  be  dark  in  the  light,  like  a  reproachful 
shadow,  I  have  looked  upon  it  as  a  freedom,  as  a 
rebellion  against  the  ancient  regime  of  tyranny." 

I  told  her  that  she  needed  not  to  defend  herself 
to  me.  But  soon  I  understood  that  she  liked  to 
talk  about  her  crime,  because  it  was  sweet  to  her. 

156 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Ah,  but  have  you  thought  of  the  end  ?  "  said  I ; 
and  she  gave  me  a  reproachful  look.  "  It  is  the 
June  day  that  delights  us,  and  we'd  be  ungrateful 
to  look  forward  into  the  night  unless  we  found 
the  night  beautiful,  too,"  she  replied.  I  did  not 
doubt  that  she  had  been  reading,  not  moral  books, 
but  Byron.  "  But  what  can  the  end  be?  "  I  per- 
sisted. 

''  We  shall  always  love  each  other,"  she  replied. 

"  But  sooner  or  later  Pague  must  suspect  or 
know  the  truth.  Then  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you — what  do  they  call  it  ?  Cross  exam- 
iner? That's  what  you  are.  Why,  it  would  be 
a  scandal,  of  course.  Weren't  you  and  I  both 
brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  that  ripens  scandal  ? 
Haven't  we  known  of  them  in  our  own  neigh- 
borhood?" And  after  sitting  in  silence  for  a 
time  she  said :  "I  am  glad  you  don't  condemn 
me.  .But  I  wasn't  very  much  afraid.  You  are 
not  helping  me  to  deceive  Mr.  Pague,  but  assist- 
ing him  to  deceive  himself;  and  that's  what  he 
wants." 

There  were  questions  that  I  should  have  liked 
to  ask.  Into  mysteries  she  had  been  initiated. 
From  her  eyes  had  fallen  the  golden  scales  of  in- 

157 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

nocence,  and  out  of  that  heaven-born  blindness 
she  had  come  forth  into  the  light,  to  view  the 
world,  herself,  to  remember  the  truth  and  to 
compare  it  with  the  imagined.  But  modesty  is 
more  than  a  film  and  I  could  not  break  it.  I  did 
not  ask  a  question. 


158 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  PREACHER'S  WORDS. 

Late  the  following  afternoon,  while  I  was  sit- 
ting at  the  window  in  my  aunt's  home,  a  thrill 
suddenly  shot  through  me.  I  saw  Edward  com- 
ing up  the  steps.  I  didn't  know  whether  or  not 
he  had  seen  me,  and  when  he  rang  the  bell  I 
jumped  up  to  run  away,  with  the  intention  not 
to  be  "  at  home,"  but  my  resolution  gave  way  and 
I  went  to  the  door  to  admit  him.  Of  course  I  was 
surprised  to  see  him;  I  asked  him  if  it  were  my 
aunt  he  had  come  to  call  on,  and  he  laughed  care- 
lessly as  he  walked  into  the  parlor.  I  told  him 
that  I  thought  I  had  ordered  him  not  to  come, 
and  he  laughed  and  said  that  he  must  have  mis- 
taken it  for  a  command  to  make  his  appearance 
at — here  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  added :  "  At 
this  time." 

What  a  picture  he  was,  dressed  in  graceful 
negligence,  with  an  impudent  kink  of  hair  on  his 
forehead.  His  dark  eyes  glowed  upon  me,  and 

159 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

a  tenderness  vibrated  in  his  voice.  At  one  mo- 
ment he  was  almost  rudely  at  ease,  and  at  the 
moment  following  it  would  seem  that  he  was 
almost  frightened,  his  face  growing  pale.  Look- 
ing toward  the  piano  he  asked  me  if  I  played; 
and  what  was  more  natural  than  for  me  to  reply 
that  I  had  given  up  my  music.  But  this  was 
true.  I  had.  How  hard  I  had  tried  to  touch  the 
keys  with  the  emotion  I  had  felt ;  but  I  had  failed, 
as  all  must  fail  who  have  industry  rather  than 
talent.  He  said  that  surely  I  could  sing,  but  I 
shook  my  head.  "  You  have  come  to  a  poor  place 
for  entertainment,"  I  said.  "  There  are  several 
here  who  sing  and  play — when  the  others  want 
to  read,  but  they  are  out  at  present." 

His  eyes  were  grateful  for  the  latter  part  of 
this  intelligence.  "  Were  you  surprised  to  see 
me  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling  with  charming  defiance ; 
and  I  rebuked  him  with  a  look,  or  at  least 
thought  I  did,  but  he  smiled  again  as  before,  and 
his  impudence  was  pleasing  because  it  appeared 
to  be  natural.  "  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
myself  this  afternoon,"  he  said.  "  I  tried  to  give 
myself  up  to  study,  but  my  mind  wandered  off — 

160 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

in  this  direction.  Can  I  help  it  if  my  mind  wan- 
ders?" 

"  No,  but  you  can  keep  from  following  it  when 
it  does  wander,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  I  could  have  myself  locked  up,"  he  re- 
joined, and  his  face  was  pale  and  his  eyes  glowed. 
"  But  a  man  may  be  in  prison  and  yet  not  locked 
up,"  he  added,  musing.  "  Wasn't  it  one  of  the 
old  poets  who  said  that  iron  bars  did  not  a  prison 
make  ?  Is  your  aunt  at  home  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  thought  she  was  somewhere 
about  the  house.  "  Do  you  wish  to  see  her  ?  I'll 
call  her." 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  not  acquainted  with  her." 

For  a  time  we  sat  in  silence,  he  looking  at  me, 
pale  and  flushed  by  turns.  Once  in  his  eyes  I  saw 
an  expression,  a  dark  shadow  edged  with  light, 
and  my  heart  beat  fast.  I  looked  away  from  him, 
at  the  window  curtain,  slowly  moving  with  a 
breeze.  He  spoke  of  the  softness  of  the  air,  and 
asked  me  if  I  should  not  like  to  walk,  but  I  de- 
clined, scarcely  hearing  my  own  voice  when  I 
said  no.  Something  drew  me  toward  him,  some- 
thing that  strove  constantly  to  break  through  the 
natural  reserve  of  our  short  acquaintance.  To 

161 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

myself  I  had  not  acknowledged  that  I  loved  him ; 
but  when  I  had  thought  that  he  might  perhaps 
love  me,  the  feeling  that  followed  was  warm  and 
sweet.  Then  arose  the  thought  of  money,  my 
teaching,  the  very  mother's  milk  of  all  my  train- 
ing ;  and  to  myself  I  said  that  his  love  could  mat- 
ter but  little,  since  I  could  not  consent  to  be  his 
wife.  I  thought  of  Olive,  of  her  slavery,  of  her 
bursts  into  criminal  freedom.  But  I  thought  also 
of  poverty,  of  never-ending  toil,  of  the  misery 
that  might  follow  from  seeing  innocent  and  help- 
less ones  suffer  on  account  of  my  selfish  love. 
Yes,  it  was  natural  to  love  and  to  be  loved,  but 
nature  herself  was  an  animal. 

He  asked  me  if  I  would  go  to  church  with  him, 
and  I  told  him  that  I  would,  with  my  aunt's  con- 
sent. This  I  felt  that  she  would  give,  as  he  was 
dressed  with  the  appearance  of  a  possible  posses- 
sion of  money.  Soon  she  came  into  the  room.  I 
presented  Edward,  and  saw  at  once  that  he  found 
at  least  a  temporary  favor  in  her  eye.  Ah,  he 
was  shrewd.  He  complimented  her  in  a  way  that 
sounded  more  of  truth  than  of  flattery;  and 
shortly  afterward  she  expressed  the  wish  that  he 
might  stay  to  supper.  Then  he  boldly  asked  per- 

162 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

mission  to  accompany  me  to  church.  She  gave 
it  readily,  as  I  knew  she  would.  I  was  afraid 
that  he  might  spoil  it  all  by  dropping  some  hint 
of  his  poverty,  of  his  short-haired  sister  and  his 
long-haired  brother  in  Kansas;  but  he  talked 
about  stocks  and  bonds  with  such  ease  that  my 
aunt  was  quite  delighted.  As  yet  she  did  not 
know  that  he  worked  for  Nevum.  Without  wait- 
ing to  be  asked  where  he  had  met  me,  he  had 
volunteered  the  information  that  his  friend 
Nevum  had  introduced  us,  which  was  not  true, 
but  I  did  not  correct  him. 

At  the  supper  table  he  was  bright  and  engag- 
ing; he  told  a  story  that  put  every  one  in  good 
humor,  complimented  an  old  woman  who  whis- 
pered to  me  that  he  was  as  nice  as  he  could  be, 
and  finally  won  my  aunt  completely  by  declaring 
that  not  in  years  had  he  so  much  enjoyed  a  meal. 

There  were  several  churches  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood,  but  he  chose  one  further  away; 
and  we  walked,  the  air  was  so  soft  and  the  sky 
so  purple  with  the  lingering  light  of  the  sun.  The 
minister  was  a  young  man,  full  of  the  fire  of 
"  declamation."  He  denounced  the  evil  of  the 
day,  the  prevalence  of  divorces.  He  said  with 

163 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

deep  impressiveness,  that  there  might  be  some 
who  would  take  him  to  task  for  what  he  was 
about  to  utter,  but  that  he  was  going  to  give 
what,  in  his  opinion,  was  the  cause  of  so  many 
divorces.  Here  every  one  appeared  to  lean  for- 
ward to  catch  the  message  of  wisdom.  "  Un- 
considered  marriage,"  said  he.  "  Permit  me  to 
be  a  little  plainer — romantic  marriage.  In  what 
appears  to  be  a  most  beautiful  romance  there  may 
be  no  suitability,  no  temperamental  affinity,  no 
thought  in  common.  A  girl  should  not  trust  her 
inexperienced  senses.  Marriage  was  instituted 
that  woman  might  be  taken  care  of,  and  unless 
her  husband  is  able  to  do  this,  a  vital  fault  is 
encountered  at  the  very  threshold  of  married 
life."  Here  he  paused  and  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  lake.  "  Over  across  that  bright  and  limpid 
water  lies  the  Gretna  Green  of  many  a  fond 
hope.  Across  the  wave  glides  the  boat  freighted 
with  romance,  with  glowing  eyes,  with  warm 
lips.  But  what  is  that  shadow  that  falls  almost 
amid  the  sunbeams  at  the  stern  of  the  hope- 
laden  craft?  It  is  the  shadow  of  the  divorce 
court.  Therefore,  young  women,  ye  of  no  experi- 
ence of  life,  I  say  to  you,  trust  not  your  romantic 

164 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

desires.  Impassioned  marriage  is  a  madness.  If 
you  cannot  take  reason  to  the  altar  with  you,  do 
not  go.  A  wise  divine  has  recently  said  that, 
while  love  may  be  an  intoxication,  marriage  par- 
takes of  the  nature  of  a  trade,  a  business,  depend- 
ing for  happiness  upon  prosperity.  And  I  say, 
that  the  union  of  two  poverties  can  fall  but  little 
short  of  a  crime.  The  legitimate  career  of  man 
is  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  This  idea  is  as  old 
as  man  himself.  But  how  constantly  a  lack  of 
judgment  interferes  with  it.  If  you  are  going  to 
choose  a  partner  in  business  you  do  not  let  foolish 
whims  and  romances  influence  your  action.  Re- 
gard marriage  as  a  partnership,  and  you  will  see 
the  divorce  court  close  its  doors." 

This  was  my  own  cradle  song,  sung  now  from 
the  pulpit.  Surely  it  was  true,  as  a  newspaper 
had  said,  that  poetry  was  dying  out  of  the  world, 
that  it  belonged  only  to  the  morning  twilight  of 
civilization.  That  warm  glow  in  the  heart,  a 
glow  so  bright  as  to  dazzle  the  eye,  that  some- 
thing which  we  have  called  love,  was  to  be 
dreaded  and  shunned.  To  judgment  only  we 
should  appeal.  And  what  was  the  greatest 
achievement,  the  highest  reward  of  judgment? 

165 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Money.  I  glanced  at  Edward  and  his  cheeks 
were  red  with  indignation.  I  fancied  that  I  could 
hear  his  heart  beating,  like  a  distant  drum.  I 
could  feel  his  anger.  It  was  warming  itself  by 
my  own.  And  yet  I  could  not  banish  the  thought, 
the  conviction  that  the  preacher  was  telling  the 
truth. 

As  we  passed  out  of  the  church  Edward  re- 
marked :  "  I'd  like  to  take  that  fellow  by  the 
throat." 

"For  telling  the  truth?"  I  inquired. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  believe  him  ?  Isn't  love 
the  very  basis  of  the  book  he  preaches  from? 
Isn't  love  declared  to  be  God  ?  " 

"  Love  in  that  sense  must  mean  justice,"  I  re- 
plied, speaking  against  the  promptings  of  my  own 
heart.  A  man  and  a  woman  passed  us.  "  He  hit 
the  nail  on  the  head,"  remarked  the  man.  "  Our 
own  married  life  illustrates  it.  We  married  with- 
out any  nonsense,  and  have  always  been  con- 
tented." 

"  And  were  never  happy  a  moment  in  their 
lives,"  Edward  declared,  as  they  passed  on.  I 
replied  that  they  could  be  happy  and  still  not  de- 
lirious. For  a  long  time  we  walked  in  silence. 

166 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

The  moon  was  full,  the  night  romantic;  the 
ripened  year  was  sweet  with  the  scent  of  the  mel- 
lowed leaf.  But  the  man  had  preached  against 
it  all — God's  beauty  wasted.  I  heard  Edward 
speaking,  a  low,  musical  hum;  and  out  of  his 
chant  there  came  the  words :  "  Would  you  marry 
for  money?  " 

"  I  didn't — I  ran  away,  and  that's  why  I'm 
here,  working  for  a  living." 

"  And  are  you  glad  that  you  ran  away?  " 

"  I  am  not  sorry — that  I  didn't  marry  that 
man,  old  and  not  refined." 

"  But  if  he  hadn't  been  old  you  might  have 
married  him." 

"  If  he  had  been  young  I  might  have  loved 
him." 

"  Yes,  young  and  with  money,  you  might  have 
loved  him.  By  the  eternal  heavens,  poverty  is  a 
crime,  isn't  it?  When  our  forefathers  came  to 
cut  down  the  forest,  love  gripped  the  handle  of 
the  axe,  but  the  forest  is  gone  and  love  seems  to 
have  fallen  with  the  trees." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  those  who  worked  while 
they  loved,  remembering  the  hardships  and  the 
trials,  now  tell  us  that  we  must  have  money.  As 

167 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

for  myself,  I  am  free  to  say  that  I  hate  poverty. 
I  love  refinements,  songs  instead  of  groans,  music 
rather  than  distress.  I  don't  like  to  shut  myself 
up  when  the  day  is  beautiful,  to  work  in  order 
that  I  may  have  some  dark  place  to  sleep  in,  some 
board  where  I  may  satisfy  my  hunger.  If  God 
gave  a  part  of  the  world  to  me,  why  didn't  he 
give  it  freely  ?  Why  did  he  put  a  blight  upon  it  ? 
And  why,  in  order  to  mock  me,  did  he  give  to  me 
an  appreciation  of  better  things  ?  " 

We  walked  in  silence  until  we  reached  home. 
I  asked  him  to  come  in,  saying  that  it  was  not 
late,  but  he  said  that  he  wasn't  feeling  very  well 
and  would  go  home.  He  held  forth  his  hand.  I 
gave  him  mine  and  he  held  it  for  a  moment, 
pressing  it;  and  his  hand  was  warm  and  thrill- 
ing. But,  as  he  seemed  to  be  drawing  me  toward 
him,  I  took  my  hand  away  and  bade  him  good 
night. 

My  aunt  was  in  the  parlor,  alone.  I  entered 
with  a  laugh,  but  in  my  heart  there  was  no  mirth. 
She  began  at  once  to  talk  about  Edward.  She 
said  he  was  charming.  "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  he  is 
very  kind  at  the  office." 

"  At  the  office  ?    Does  he  work  there  ?  " 

168 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Yes." 

"  A  partner  in  the  concern?  " 

"  No,  he  works  for  Nevum — during  the  day, 
and  studies  law  at  night." 

Her  countenance  fell.  "  A  fine  prospect  he 
has,"  she  said.  "  In  the  course  of  five  or  six  years 
he'll  have  a  sign,  five  by  eight  inches,  in  a  win- 
dow, twentieth  story  from  the  ground.  And 
there  he'll  starve,  until  he  goes  out  to  sell  sub- 
scription books  to  the  farmers.  Oh,  I  know  all 
about  it.  And  the  first  thing  I  know  you'll  marry 
him,  even  before  he  has  money  enough  to  get  his 
tin  sign.  Then  I  suppose  you'll  go  about  from 
house  to  house  with  pins  and  needles  for  sale  and 
take  orders  for  cheap  coffee.  I  know  all  about 
it.  And  all  this  time  your  mother  thinks  that  I'm 
taking  excellent  care  of  you.  But  instead  of  that 
I'm  about  to  marry  you  to  a  pauper  that  knows 
how  to  compliment  old  women.  Oh,  I  know." 

"  But,  my  dear  aunt,"  I  protested,  "  I  haven't 
thought  of  marrying  him." 

"  Oh,  you  haven't.  You  are  in  love  with  him 
this  very  minute — and  he  is  in  love  with  you. 
Anybody  can  see  that." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  we  are  both  in  love " 

169 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

She  cleared  her  throat  and  gave  me  a  look  that 
almost  turned  my  blood  cold.  "  Elinor,"  she  said, 
"  I  take  as  much  interest  in  you  as  if  you  were 
my  own  daughter.  If  you  marry  that  man  I  can 
see  nothing  but  misery  for  you.  Why,  you  might 
better  go  out  into  the  country  and  marry  a  farm 
hand.  In  that  event  you  would  both  be  sure  of 
work.  But  that  young  fellow  hasn't  yet  got  up 
to  the  point  where  he  can  work.  So  far  as  a 
start  is  concerned,  he  hasn't  been  born.  He's 
handsome  enough  to  look  at,  but  never  in  God's 
world  will  he  make  a  lawyer  of  himself.  Collect- 
ing bad  debts  during  the  day  and  studying  law 
at  night !  Merciful  heavens.  And  I  want  to  say 
that  when  you  feel  that  you  can't  live  without 
him,  suicide  would  be  just  as  rational  and — and 
a  good  deal  more  lasting  than  marriage.  I  sup- 
pose you  think  you  could  marry  him  and  keep  on 
at  work  as  you  are  now.  But  that  would  soon 
bring  him  into  contempt.  It  is  impossible  for  a 
woman  to  love  a  man  if  she  has  to  help  support 
him — unless  he  has  lost  his  health." 

"Well,  then,  I  might  wait  until  he  loses  his 
health  and  then  marry  him,"  I  replied,  not  in  re- 
sentment of  what  she  had  said,  but  in  mischief. 

170 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

She  looked  at  me  and  laughed.  "  Now  you  give 
me  some  little  evidence  of  your  good  sense/'  she 
said.  "  Whenever  a  woman  begins  to  joke  you 
may  know  that  she  is  going  to  take  the  right  view 
of  a  thing.  But  really,  my  dear,  you  can  see  that 
he  is  weak — handsome  and  weak.  He  couldn't 
enforce  any  respect  aside  from  love — and  love 
disobeys  and  goes  wrong  a  hundred  times  where 
respect  does  once." 

I  didn't  believe  that.  I  thought  of  Olive.  No 
respect  that  she  might  have  had  for  Pague  could 
keep  her  from  erring  with  "  Cousin  George." 
Erring!  I  repeated  the  word  over  and  over  to 
myself.  What  was  erring?  To  stifle  one's  con- 
science, one's  love — that  was  obedience.  To  yield 
to  nature,  to  love — therein  lay  a  crime.  But  we 
live  in  the  world  and  must  abide  by  the  opinion 
of  the  world.  There  was  no  argument  to  support 
the  deceit  that  Olive  had  begun  to  practice.  I 
could  have  startled  my  aunt  by  telling  her,  by 
showing  her  that  money  was  not  all,  but  in  speak- 
ing in  condemnation  of  Olive  it  would  seem,  in 
some  strange  way,  that  I  was  to  condemn  my- 
self. 

"  I  loiow  what  you're  thinking  about,"   said 

171 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

my  aunt.  "  You  are  thinking  of  the  thousands 
of  presumably  happy  couples  that  have  married 
poor  and  worked  together  for  wealth.  There 
have  been  such  cases,  it  is  true,  but  the  world 
has  changed.  Life  is  not  the  simple,  confiding 
thing  it  used  to  be.  Remember  your  own  home 
and  shun  a  poverty  marriage.  And  in  the  mean- 
time I  think  you'd  better  look  for  another  situa- 
tion." 

This  stung  me.  "  My  present  situation  is 
rather  a  pleasant  one,"  I  replied.  "  I  have  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  work — I  have  learned  the 
trade,  so  to  speak,  and  if  I  give  it  up  and  go 
to  some  other  office,  I  shall  have  to  learn  all 
over  again." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  assented.  "  But  you'll  give 
me  your  word  that  you'll  not  encourage  the  love 
of  that  young  fellow — with  any  hope  on  his  part 
that  you  might  possibly  marry  him.  Will  you  do 
this?" 

"  He  has  never  asked  me  to  marry  him ;  he  has 
never  hinted  as  much.  When  he  does  I'll  give 
him  all  necessary  discouragement." 

She  thanked  me,  and,  what  was  pleasanter,  she 
left  me  to  myself.  It  was  a  long  time  before 

172 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  slept  that  night.  The  preacher's  words  droned 
in  my  ears,  and  then  would  come  the  resounding 
notes  in  Olive's  voice — the  notes  of  rebellion  and 
of  love. 


173 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  MAN  TO  BE  REMEMBERED. 

u  morning  as  I  passed  through  the  outer 
office  into  my  work  room  Edward  looked  up  from 
his  desk  and  nodded.  He  had  said,  the  night  be- 
fore, that  he  did  not  feel  well.  Now  he  looked 
as  if  his  bed  had  brought  him  no  refreshment. 
His  face  was  sallow.  But  a  sort  of  melancholy 
glory  burned  in  his  eyes.  I  could  think  of  no  other 
expression  than  glory.  They  seemed  to  be  lighted 
by  an  altar  fire  of  the  soul,  those  dark  suns — and 
inwardly  I  trembled  as  he  turned  them  upon  me, 
for  I  felt  that  into  them  I  had  cast  those  saddened 
lights,  those  shadows  more  expressive  than 
lights.  Nevum  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  I  sat 
down,  wondering  if  Edward  would  come  into  the 
room,  but  he  did  not.  But  soon  there  came  some 
one,  a  man  whom  I  have  cause  never  to  forget — 
tall,  faultlessly  dressed,  and  more  impressive  than 
had  he  been  simply  handsome.  He  wore  a  beard 
and  parted  it  in  the  middle — light,  with  the  mer- 

174 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

est  touch  of  gray.  He  bowed,  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  and  I  saw  that  his  abundant  hair,  turn- 
ing gray,  was  also  parted  in  the  middle.  He 
asked  if  Mr.  Nevum  were  in.  I  told  him  no,  but 
that  he  would  surely  come  within  a  few  moments. 
His  look,  if  not  the  cool  authority  of  his  slight 
smile,  enjoined  consideration,  and  I  brought  for- 
ward a  chair  and  requested  him  to  sit  down.  He 
thanked  me  with  a  graceful  nod,  in  two  sections, 
a  slight  poise  between  them.  Upon  the  table  he 
carefully  placed  his  silk  hat,  and,  slowly  taking 
off  his  tan-colored  gloves,  dropped  them  into  it. 
There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do,  and  so  I  simply 
waited.  He  looked  straight  at  me.  His  eyes 
were  large  and  gray — and  cool.  His  brow  was 
high  and  broad,  with  two  paralleled  wrinkles 
running  across  it,  a  railroad  track  whereon 
thought  was  freighted,  I  mused.  On  his  finger 
a  diamond  ring  flashed,  catching  a  ray  of  sun- 
light that  fell  through  the  window.  Raising  his 
hand  to  stroke  his  beard  he  threw  the  light  into 
my  eyes.  In  his  presence  I  felt  untidy,  and  I  put 
up  my  hand  to  adjust  my  hair.  He  smiled,  like 
the  gleam  of  frost;  and,  in  keeping  with  the 
smile,  he  remarked  that  the  weather  was  slightly 

175 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cooler.  To  myself  I  mused  that  he  would  always 
keep  it  cool,  and  to  him  replied  that  I  thought  it 
was.  "  Ah,  you  haven't  been  here  very  long,  have 
you?"  said  he,  dazzling  me  again  with  his  dia- 
mond. 

"  No,  not  very  long." 

"  And  I  warrant  you  would  rather  be  out  where 
the  wild  grapes  are  ripening." 

What  did  he  know  about  wild  grapes?  He 
couldn't  have  known  that  many  a  time  I  had 
climbed  to  dangerous  heights  to  stain  my  lips 
with  them. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  Don't  I  look  indus- 
trious ?  " 

He  laughed  and  it  was  like  the  ripple  of  cool 
water.  "  Oh,  yes ;  but  somehow  it  doesn't  seem 
right  that  you  should  be  shut  up  here.  Nevum 
told  me  about  you — said  that  you  had  come  from 
the  country — the  wild  grape  country  and  not  the 
prairies.  Your  name  is  Miss  Dawson.  I  am 
Bayless,  the  architect." 

I  remembered  having  heard  Nevum  say  that 
I  ought  to  meet  Bayless,  the  architect.  And  I 
now  said  that  I  was  pleased  to  meet  him.  I  was. 
He  had  given  to  me  a  new  sensation,  and  I  re- 

176 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

garded  him  in  the  light  of  a  discovery  while 
journeying  toward  the  north  pole.  With  one 
look  he  seemed  to  be  able  to  teach  self-posses- 
sion. I  wondered  how  many  emotions  it  would 
take  to  thaw  him.  A  man,  addressing  himself 
to  one  whom  he  believes  to  be  modest,  thinks  that 
he  must  be  witty,  and,  failing  in  this,  is  trivial. 
This  man  said  something  which  doubtless  he 
hoped  to  be  witty,  and.  I  laughed,  with  a  readi- 
ness that  sounded  the  proof  of  spontaneity.  This 
seemed  to  please  him.  Then  he  sat  in  a  study  as 
if  trying  to  think  of  something  to  say  to  me.  He 
asked  me  if  I  liked  the  Fair.  I  felt  that  he  ex- 
pected me  to  say  that  it  was  grand,  and  this  was 
the  reason  that  I  didn't  say  it.  I  said  that  it  was 
the  holiday  of  art  and  industry,  and  that  there- 
fore I  must  give  to  it  my  approval.  He  inquired 
which  I  represented,  the  art  or  the  industry,  and 
I  regretted  that  I  had  offered  him  this  oppor- 
tunity, for  I  was  not  ready  with  an  answer,  ex- 
cept one  that  any  simpleton  could  have  made. 
After  a  moment,  however,  I  said  that,  as  I  had 
not  the  art  to  be  idle,  I  must  represent  the  indus- 
try. Again  the  cool  water  rippled.  If  he  thawed 
at  all,  it  was  always  beneath  the  ice.  I  was  pleased 

177 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  he  did  not  attempt  to  force  acquaintance  by 
any  burst  of  frankness,  as  so  many  men  do — a 
pretended  roughness  to  prove  that  they  are  with- 
out guile.  I  saw  that  he  was  cultivated  almost 
to  that  delightful  dulness  which  society  demands. 
Good  breeding  is  a  sort  of  socialism;  it  lops  off 
the  rebellious  twigs  of  individuality.  This  man 
was  not  an  individual;  he  was  a  type  from  an 
almost  exclusive  foundry.  He  was  well  read — 
he  said  nothing  to  prove  it,  but  I  could  see  that 
he  was.  I  knew  that  he  loved  art,  of  the  sort  al- 
most degenerate  in  its  ultra  refinement. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  make  your  home  here?  "  he 
inquired.  This  was  something  more  serious  than 
I  had  expected,  but  I  mused  that  I  must  not  an- 
swer with  anything  like  truth  or  solemnity,  so  I 
said :  "  I  may  remain  here  indefinitely,  but  I  am 
afraid  I  couldn't  make  a  home  here." 

He  smiled.  "  I  am  a  builder  of  houses,  but  it 
is  such  as  you  that  make  homes." 

This  was  pure  gallantry,  and  I  bowed  my  ac- 
knowledgments. Thus  matters  stood  when 
Nevum  entered.  I  did  not  wish  for  him.  I  won- 
dered why  these  two  should  be  friends.  "  Ah," 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cried  the  bad  debt  collector,  "  where  have  you 
been  keeping  yourself?  " 

"  Beyond  the  reach  of  your  threats  to  prose- 
cute," Bayless  replied,  shaking  hands  with  him. 
And  then,  as  if  afraid  that  I  might  think  he  was 
within  range  of  Nevum's  constant  guns,  he 
added :  "  If  I  owed  you  or  any  one  who  em- 
ployed you,  Nevum,  I  would  pay  at  once  or  jump 
into  the  lake.  Ha,  I  thought  that  I  wanted  to  see 
you,  on  some  sort  of  business,  but  I  haven't  been 
impatient."  He  glanced  toward  me,  and  Nevum 
replied : 

"  I  should  think  not.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
now  to  introduce  you,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Introduce  us  ?    Oh,  no,  we  are  old  friends." 

They  withdrew  into  another  room  and  talked 
for  some  time.  When  they  returned,  the  archi- 
tect bowed  to  me  and  took  his  leave. 

Nevum  said  that  we  had  a  busy  day  before  us, 
and  began  at  once  to  dictate  his  distressful  let- 
ters. Sometimes  he  stood  near  me,  and  then  he 
would  walk  up  and  down  the  room  as  if  dis- 
turbed. After  a  long  time  he  made  his  usual 
sign,  to  show  me  that  I  was  "  dismissed."  I 
turned  to  the  machine  and  was  writing,  when  he 

179 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

remarked :    "  You  remember  I  spoke  about  Bay- 
less?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  I  answered,  pausing  in 
my  work. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  he  seems  to  be  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Yes,  a  woman  would  naturally  think  so.  The 
fact  is,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  silence,  "  I  don't 
know  whether  I  wanted  him  to  meet  you  or  not." 

"  Why  not?  "  I  inquired  in  surprise,  or  rather 
what  I  intended  for  him  to  understand  as  sur- 
prise. "  You  said  that  I  ought  to  meet  him." 

"  Yes,  I  said  so  at  that  time.  But  since  then 
you  and  I  have  become  better  acquainted ;  we  have 
had  several  talks,  and  one  was  rather  serious. 
When  I  said  you  ought  to  meet  him  I  had  no 
notion  that  I  should  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

"Oh,  you  didn't,"  I  laughed.  "But  you 
haven't  asked  me — right  out." 

"  Haven't  I  ?   Well,  I  intend  to." 

"  By  correspondence  ?  And  shall  I  take  the 
letter  now  ?  " 

:<  Well,  not  right  yet."  And  then,  after  a  short 
silence :  "  The  last  time  we  talked  on  the  sub- 

180 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ject  I  believe  you  acknowledged  that  you  couldn't 
learn  to  love  me." 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  But  I  couldn't  love  any 
one  that  I  had  to  learn  to  love.  I  think  I  told  you 
something  like  that.  A  love  that  it  might  take 
ten  years  to  learn  could  be  unlearned  in  a  minute, 
I  should  think." 

"  The  talk  of  old  maids  and  not  of  young  girls," 
he  replied.  "  You  must  have  got  it  from  some 
school  ma'am." 

"  No,  I  didn't  get  it  from  any  one,"  I  replied, 
good-humoredly.  "  I  always  thought  it  a  piece 
of  what  you  might  term  universal  wisdom." 

"  Wisdom,"  he  echoed.  "  Has  any  one  called 
it  wisdom  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,  and  if  it  is  wisdom  to  me,  it  is 
just  as  potent  as  if  it  were  wisdom  to  all  the 
world." 

He  went  out  of  the  room  and  I  resumed  my 
work,  but  shortly  he  returned  and  broke  in  upon 
me  with  the  remark  that  young  women,  not  only 
a  few,  but  all  of  them,  imagined  themselves  phil- 
osophers. "  It  is  the  result  of  club  life,"  he  added. 
I  replied  that  I  had  never  been  inside  of  a  club. 
"  And  besides,"  I  continued,  "  it  seems  that  clubs 

181 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

advocate  anything  but  old  fashioned  marriage." 

"  Old  fashioned  marriage !  What  sort  of  mar- 
riage is  that  ?  " 

"  Marriage  for  love,"  I  replied. 

"  For  nonsense — for  divorce,"  he  emphasized. 
"  No  matter  how  deserving  he  might  be,  do  you 
suppose  I'd  want  my  daughter  to  marry  a  poor 
man  ?  I  should  think  not,"  he  went  on.  "  I  know 
too  much  about  woman  for  that.  She  has  at  last 
come  to  realize  that  a  love  marriage,  unless 
there's  money,  means  slavery  for  her.  And  it's 
true.  There's  no  way  of  getting  around  it.  She 
is  always  the  one  to  feel  that  she  can't  afford  this 
or  that.  No  matter  what  the  hardship  may  be, 
she  is  to  bear  the  hardest  part." 

"  Didn't  woman  always  know  that  ?  "  I  asked 
him,  with  a  smile. 

"  Not  so  thoroughly  as  she  does  now.  I  may 
not  be  rich " 

"  Then  whose  cause  are  you  pleading?"  I 
broke  in ;  and  he  winced. 

"  Well,  woman's  cause.  Your  cause,  to  be 
more  personal.  As  I  say,  I  may  not  be  rich,  but 
I  have  enough  to  make  you  happy  and  to  keep 
you  from  want." 

182 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  How  much  do  you  suppose  it  would  take  to 
make  me  happy  and  to  keep  me  from  want?  If 
you  are  not  very  rich,  then  I  have  thrown  over  a 
higher  bidder  to  consider  you.  I  could  have  mar- 
ried a  man  that  was  anxious  to  settle  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  on  me." 

He  whistled.     "What  sort  of  a  man?" 

"  And  old  man,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh,  an  old  man." 

This  seemed  to  relieve  his  tension.  He  did  not 
regard  himself  as  being  old.  When  an  old  man 
does  so  regard  himself,  he  is  charming.  Until  he 
arrives  at  this  stage  of  common  sense,  he  is  an 
idiot,  an  ape.  Nevum  was  still  an  ape. 

"  Marriage  is  a  business,"  he  said. 

"  An  active  business  with  some,"  I  replied.  "  A 
business.  Yes,  that  was  what  a  South  Side 
preacher  said  last  night.  He  deplored  love." 

"  He  knows  that  young  love  is  an  error,"  said 
Nevum. 

"  Young  love  for  an  old  lover?  "  I  asked,  and 
he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  smiled. 
"  Well,  no.  An  element  of  judgment  enters  in 
with  age." 

183 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  By  the  way,"  I  said,  "  Aunt  has  advised  me 
to  look  for  another  situation." 

"  What,  she  has  ?  Have  you  complained  to 
her  ?  Aren't  you  kindly  treated  here  ?  Does  she 
think  your  pay  insufficient?  " 

"  None  of  these,"  I  answered.  "  She  is  very 
shrewd.  With  her  eyes  closed  she  can  see  how 
things  are  drifting." 

"  Have  you  told  her  that  I  am — in  love  with 
you?" 

"  Why  should  I,  when  you  haven't  told  me  ?  " 

"  Minx !    Didn't  I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  ?  " 

'  Yes,  but,  like  the  preacher,  you  deplored 
love." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  on  my  part.  I  deplore  the  acts, 
the  rashness  of  young  girls  that  fancy  themselves 
in  love.  But  we  won't  pursue  the  subject  any 
further  at  present.  There's  plenty  of  time — I 
hope.  In  the  meantime,  however,  you  must  not 
think  of  looking  for  another  place." 

He  turned  to  his  affairs  and  I  resumed  my 
work.  Occasionally  I  glanced  at  him;  and  once 
when  he  was  assuring  an  old  man  that  not  an- 
other day  could  be  allowed  him,  I  thought  that 
I  had  never  seen  a  countenance  more  wanting  in 
sympathy. 

184 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

NOT  A  PLACE  FOR  SUCH  QUESTIONS. 

At  noon-time  I  left  Nevum  arguing  with  a 
young  girl,  whose  indignant  soul  strove  in  the 
eloquence  of  despair  to  save  her  piano.    Edward 
had  gone  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  outer  of- 
fice.   At  first  I  thought  that,  in  view  of  the  "  dis- 
cussion "  which  the  law  student  and  I  had  en- 
tered into  the  night  before,  I  would  not  go  to  the 
restaurant  where  he  and  I  were  accustomed  to 
meet.    But,  looking  in  at  several  places  and  not 
finding  them  to  my  taste,  I  went  down  into  the  old 
resort.     Edward  was  at  the  table  where  I  was 
in  the  habit  of  sitting,  and  I  was  about  to  pass 
on  to  another  table,  when  he  laughed  with  good 
humor.    I  laughed,  too,  and  thus  the  ice,  if  it  had 
formed,  was  broken.    So  I  sat  down  beside  him. 

'  You  look  as  fresh  as  if  you  had  never  worked 
a  moment  in  your  life,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  feel 
that  fresh?" 

'  Yes.    I  have  to  hold  my  health  down  to  keep 

185 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

it  from  leaping  beyond  all  restraint.  My  mother 
taught  me  to  take — physical  care  of  myself." 

"  Just  physical  care?    Was  that  all?  " 

"  Well,  with  her,  physical  care,  the  preserva- 
tion of  looks,  meant  everything." 

"  She  ought  to  come  here  and  start  a  sort  of 
Delsarte  school.  By  the  way,  how  is  your  charm- 
ing aunt?" 

"  She  is  about  as  you  left  her — eyes  and  ears 
open." 

"Did  she  ask  you  very  many  questions  con- 
cerning me  ?  " 

"  She  spoke  about  you." 

"  And  you  had  to  tell  her,  eh?  " 

"Had  to  tell  her  what?" 

"  That  I  worked  for  old  Nevum  during  the  day 
and  studied  the  devil's  text  books  at  night." 

"  I  didn't  tell  her  anything  about  the  text  books. 
I  didn't  know  you  called  them  by  that  name.  Yes, 
I  told  her  you  worked  for  Nevum  and  studied  law 
at  night." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  to  that?  " 

"  Oh,  not  very  much  of  anything.  But  she 
doesn't  think  that  a  law  student  without  money 
has  very  much  of  a  chance." 

1 86 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  She's  a  wise  witch,"  he  said. 

We  gave  our  orders  to  the  waiter,  who  with- 
drew, smiling.  There  is  nothing  wiser  than  ig- 
norance— that  has  had  experience. 

Aunt  has  advised  me  to  get  another  place/' 
said  I. 

"  Has  she?    I  wish  you  would?  " 

"  Why  do  you  wish  that?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  not  pleasant  to  reflect  that  you  are 
shut  up  there  with  that  gabulous  old  fraud.  Of 
course  he  hasn't  any  money  to  speak  of,  but  some- 
times talk  rings  like  dollars  and  might  finally 
convince.  I  suppose  he's  about  got  to  the  stage 
now  where  he  urges  that  you  can  learn  to  love 
him,  and  that  if  you  can't  it  won't  make  any  par- 
ticular difference." 

"  If  he  has  failed  so  often,  why  should  you  fear 
that  he  might  conquer  me  ?  " 

For  a  few  moments  he  seemed  confused.  "  The 
fact  that  I  do  fear  is  where  the  trouble  comes  in," 
said  he.  "  Of  course  I  don't  know  just  how 
strong  he  is  with  his  case — don't  know  how  weak 
the  defense  is.  I  realize  that  I  haven't  the  right 
to  say  a  word.  You  and  I  have  had  our  talk. 
But  it  does  seem  a  shame  that  a  girl  of  your  in- 

is/ 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

telligence — of  your  appearance,  to  put  it  stronger 


"  You  can't  have  very  much  respect  for  my  in- 
telligence if  you  think  that  with  me  the  word  ap- 
pearance does  make  it  stronger." 

He  bowed  his  head  out  of  respect  to  this  re- 
buke. He  acknowledged  that  it  was  deserved. 
The  waiter  came  and  we  were  silent.  After  a 
time  Edward  looked  about  him,  to  see  whether 
any  one  were  near,  and  then  remarked :  "  Let 
me  modify  my  offense  and  say  that  it  is  a  shame 
for  a  girl  of  your  character  and  intelligence — 
genius,  I  might  almost  say — to  be  subjected  to 
the  matrimonial  importunities  of  that  old  failure. 
Why  do  you  want  to  do  typewriting?  Why  don't 
you  devote  yourself  to  some  other  employment  ?  " 

"  Typewriting  and  stenography  offered  the 
surest  means  of  support.  Any  sort  of  'profession' 
would  have  been  an  experiment." 

"  But  when  an  experiment  is  a  success,  it  is 
the  greatest  success,"  said  he,  and  I  nodded  in 
compliance  with  his  view.  "  But,"  said  I,  "  the 
outcome  of  an  experiment,  no  matter  how  much 
it  may  promise,  is  uncertain.  And  I  was  not  in  a 
position  to  undertake  an  uncertainty," 

188 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  you,"  he 
said. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  wish  I  could 
do  something  for  you." 

"  You  could,"  he  spoke  up  quickly.  "  You 
could  encourage  me — stimulate  me  to  succeed." 

"  Tell  me  how." 

"  You  know  how ;  every  time  I  look  at  you  I 
tell  you.  Don't  pretend  not  to  understand.  Tell 
me,  do  you  care  for  me  at  all  ?  " 

"  Hush,  this  is  no  place  to  ask  such  a  question." 

"  But  do  you?  You  can  say  yes  or  no,  can't 
you?" 

"  I  could  say  both,  I  suppose." 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  soul  in  his  eyes.  I 
felt  myself  drawn  toward  him — felt  my  lips 
burning.  In  the  noises,  the  clatter  of  the  dishes, 
the  orders  shouted  by  the  waiters  behind  the 
swinging  doors,  there  was  a  strange  music.  The 
sounds  that  came  from  the  street  were  music. 
His  eyes  were  a  melody,  heard  only  by  my  heart. 
But  I  conquered  myself,  so  far  as  he  could  see, 
though  my  heart  beat  fast,  tripped  over  itself, 
missed  a  beat;  and  I  almost  smothered.  I  drank 
some  water.  "  You  don't  care,"  he  said. 

189 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  do,"  I  whispered  so  faintly  that  I  scarcely 
heard  my  own  words.  His  eyes  blazed.  But  that 
was  not  enough. 

"  Is  it  that  you  just  do  care?  "  he  asked. 

"  Our  catechism  is  ended,"  said  I. 

"  When  you  have  lighted  the  lamp  of  hope,  is 
it  so  difficult  to  turn  it  up  higher?  " 

"  When  the  blaze  might  attract  attention  ? 
Yes." 

I  arose  to  go.  He  begged  me  to  wait  a  mo- 
ment, but  I  hastened  to  the  cashier's  desk  and 
then  out  into  the  air,  my  face  burning.  He  did 
not  follow  me. 

At  the  office  Nevum  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  room.  He  inquired  why  I  had  left  the  place 
so  suddenly.  He  had  intended  to  ask  me  to  lunch 
with  him.  "  You  were  busy,"  I  answered.  "  Did 
the  poor  girl  gain  her  suit?  Did  you  agree  to 
let  her  keep  the  piano  ?  "  He  heard  my  words, 
but  his  eyes  averted  my  inquiring  look.  To  mix 
business  and  sentiment  is  like  pouring  vinegar 
into  milk.  "  When  one  owes  a  debt,  a  piano  is  a 
reproachful  luxury,"  he  said. 

"  But  if  the  law  permitted,  it  would  be  the  same 
with  a  sewing  machine,"  said  I,  and  he  strove  to 

190 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

rebuke  me  with  his  eyes.  "  You  don't  understand 
me/'  he  said.  '  You  can  never  know  how  many 
hours  I  have  given  to  the  poor  and  unfortunate, 
how  I  have  thundered  before  juries  for  them — 
without  recompense  other  than  the  applause  of 
conscience." 

I  laughed  inwardly  to  think  that  I  was  thus 
arguing  with  my  employer,  and  I  wondered  how 
much  of  it  he  would  put  up  with  from  Edward 
or  any  other  worker  beneath  his  roof.  What  a 
privilege  man  grants  to  a  glowing  cheek.  What  a 
power  lies  in  the  smile  of  sex.  How  impotent  is 
mere  virtue ! 

He  asked  me  if  I  cared  to  go  that  night  to  the 
theater.  To  tell  a  lie  did  not  require  a  moment's 
hesitation.  I  replied  that  I  had  an  engagement. 
"  With  a  man?  "  he  inquired.  This  necessitated 
a  second's  reflection. 

"  With  visitors  that  are  going  to  call  at  the 
house." 

He  looked  as  if  he  did  not  believe  me.  Is  it 
true  that  a  man  expects  a  woman  first  to  tell  him 
a  lie  and  then  possibly  to  modify  it  into  half  a 
truth?  He  gave  me  the  opportunity  to  modify; 
but  I  insisted  that  I  expected  visitors. 

IQI 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  to-night  ?  "  he  asked,  giv- 
ing me  more  of  opportunity. 

"  I  am  certain." 

"  Well,  then,  to-morrow  night.  Have  you  an 
engagement  then  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  But  wait  until  to-morrow  and 
I  will  answer  you  definitely." 

"  Is  it  that  you  don't  care  to  go  with  me?  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

Some  one  came  in  and  freed  me.  I  was  glad 
when  six  o'clock  emancipated  me  from  further 
confinement,  and  I  hastened  out,  grateful  for  the 
fresh  air  blowing  from  the  lake. 


192 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  OLD  MAN  KEPT  AN  EYE  ON  HER. 

I  expected  no  visitors,  of  course,  but  it  so 
chanced  that  on  this  night  there  came  Olive  and 
her  husband.  I  saw  that  my  aunt  was  again 
charmed  with  Pague,  and  when  she  sighed, 
shortly  after  he  came,  I  knew  that  it  was  in  regret 
over  my  having  lost  him.  Clothes  that  were  in- 
clined to  fit  him  were  not  therefore  becoming, 
but  on  this  occasion  he  was  tailored  into  the 
semblance  of  a  man  of  importance.  He  wore 
black,  and  a  new  watch  chain  gleamed  on  his  lean 
vest.  Soon  after  arriving  Olive  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  run  up  to  my  room  with  me.  And  she 
ran,  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  panting,  she  cried  out: 
"  Freedom."  She  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
"  Oh,  I  have  been  dying  all  day,"  she  moaned. 
"  He  hasn't  granted  to  me  the  boon  of  getting  be- 
yond his  sight  one  single  moment.  It  was  of  no 
use  to  tell  him  he  ought  to  go  out  and  attend  to  his 

193 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

business.  He  said  he  had  none.  No,  he  just 
stuck  there  all  day  and  wouldn't  budge  until  I 
did,  and  then  he  followed  me." 

"  But  he  settled  the  hundred  thousand  on  you/' 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  in  some  sort  of  a  peculiar  manner.  I 
am  to  have  no  say  so  in  it  until  he  dies,  and  then 
it's  to  be  given  to  me  in  dribs — I  believe.  I've 
lost  interest  in  it.  But  mother  looks  toward  it 
as  if  it  were  the  throne  of  grace.  Yes,  she  does. 
I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  You  remember  the 
day  when  I  first  told  you  about  Charley — the  day 
my  mother  commended  your  mother's  good  sense 
for  insisting  that  you  should  marry  Mr.  Pague? 
I  said  that  I  just  wouldn't.  How  things  do  come 
about.  But  I  didn't  know  how  strong  mother 
was — how  weak  I  was.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  had 
died.  No,  I  don't,  either.  But  now — now  I'm 
not  prepared  to  die.  What  am  I  talking  about? 
Who  is  prepared  to  die  except  the  one  that  is  dy- 
ing ?  If  my  mother  only  knew.  But  she  couldn't 
believe  it.  She'd  say  that  no  scandal  could  enter 
her  house.  Scandal!  But  there  is  none.  What 
is  more  of  a  scandal,  though,  than  to  live  with  a 
man  you  can  not  love?  One  you  can  hardly  re- 

194 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

spect?  I  have  suffered.  But  I  have  lived — 
lived,"  she  cried,  springing  from  the  bed  and  tak- 
ing my  hands.  "  Lived — think  of  it.  And  I 
prayed — tried  to  pray  out  the  memory  of  it,  but  I 
couldn't.  God  may  not  have  sanctioned  it,  but  He 
wouldn't  permit  it  to  be  blotted  out.  The  sancti- 
fied by  law  became  the  vile.  I  can't  explain — I 
mustn't.  Mistress !  God,  what  a  word.  But  I'm 
not." 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  and  buried  her 
face  in  the  pillow.  I  did  not  know  how  to  soothe 
her.  My  aunt  called  me.  "  Mr.  Pague  wants  to 
know  if  you  are  coming  down  soon,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  very  soon,"  I  answered. 

"  Don't  you  see  how  he  hounds  me  ? "  said 
Olive,  getting  up.  She  bathed  her  face.  Why 
did  I  look  at  her  with  such  interest?  She  was 
the  mystery  of  sin. 

"  You  girls  have  been  talking  mischief,  I  war- 
rant," said  Pague,  as  we  entered  the  parlor. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Olive.  "  We've  been  talking 
about  clothes." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"All,"  she  said.  "Isn't  that  everything?" 
My  aunt  asked  her  how  much  longer  she  expected 

195 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

to  remain  in  Chicago  and  she  looked  at  her  hus- 
band. "  Not  much  longer,"  he  replied.  "  We 
are  going  to  move  into  a  very — I  might  say,  com- 
modious house  in  Wheeling.  And  by  the  way, 
Olive,  we  must  select  the  furniture  at  once." 

My  aunt's  countenance  lighted  with  admira- 
tion, but  Olive  was  impassive.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments, however,  she  looked  up  with  interest. 
"  Gypsy  and  I  alone  are  to  select  the  fittings  for 
at  least  one  room,"  she  said,  appealing  to  Pague. 
"May  we?" 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  and  the  bright 
hue  of  happiness  spread  over  her  face.  I  knew 
that  she  reached  forth  her  arm  to  embrace  an- 
other lawless  joy.  But  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
own  wayward  heart  to  condemn  her.  I  was  vir- 
tuous enough  to  try,  but  I  failed.  In  her  infidelity 
there  was  a  fascination.  I  say  it  to  my  shame, 
but  considering  her  life  and  mine,  there  was; 
and  while  it  was  my  weakness  to  find  it  so,  it  was 
my  fault  not  to  strive  harder  to  correct  it,  to 
purify  myself.  Virtue  itself  cannot  withhold  ap- 
plause from  the  slave  that  bursts  his  bonds  to 
rush  toward  freedom.  Freedom  is  the  heritage 
of  man.  But  Olive  permitted  herself  to  be  sold 

196 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

by  her  mother.  There  was  a  promise  of  a  reward 
that  was  not  and  could  not  be  delivered.  This 
reward  was  happiness.  She  had  been  deceived 
and  she  in  her  turn  deceived,  not  in  revenge  but 
to  meet  the  demands  of  her  own  love.  This  is  not 
an  argument  to  me  now,  but  then,  young,  having 
almost  been  sold,  it  was  unanswerable. 

Pague  was  restless.  Evidently  it  was  his  de- 
sire to  cut  short  his  visit.  My  aunt  urged  him 
to  stay,  but  he  pleaded  weariness.  Ah,  Olive  de- 
manded life  and  he  gave  her  decrepitude.  When 
they  were  gone  my  aunt  asked  me  if  I  reflected 
upon  what  T  had  lost. 

"  You  mean  escaped,  don't  you  ?  "  I  replied. 

"  No,  I  meant  what  I  said.  Why,  he  is  really 
a  man  of  affairs."  Recently  she  had  picked  this 
word  "  affairs "  out  of  a  newspaper,  and  she 
made  it  serve  her.  "  Of  affairs,"  she  repeated 
with  the  ardor  of  discovery.  "  If  he  were  not 
quite  so  old  he  might  possibly  go  to  the  United 
States  Senate." 

"  But  he  is  quite  so  old,"  I  replied.  "  And  be- 
sides, I  don't  think  he  has  money  enough  to  take 
him  there." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  admitted,  but  a  moment 

197 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

later  she  added :  "  But  I  warrant  you  he  has  as 
much  money  as  Senator  Cullum,  and  he  seems  to 
me  to  be  just  as  smart — looks  something  like  him, 
too." 

As  to  his  soul  she  said  nothing,  knew  nothing, 
could  see  nothing.  Those  who  worship  the  ob- 
vious have  but  one  god — money. 

"  Opportunities  don't  come  many  times  during 
one  life,"  said  my  aunt,  musing  in  a  spirit  of  mel- 
ancholy almost  grotesue.  "  To  the  average  man 
three  times,,  and  to  the  woman  twice.  That  is 
what  I've  heard  old  people  say.  You've  had  one. 
Look  out  for  the  other." 

"  But,  aunt,"  said  I,  "  suppose  that  every  girl 
should  marry  an  old  man.  What  would  become 
of  the  human  race  ?  " 

"  Bah !  The  human  race.  What  need  you  to 
care  for  that?  A  fine  education  you've  had,  to 
sit  up  here  and  talk  about  what  is  to  become  of 
the  human  race.  Your  own  race  is  the  only  one 
you  need  to  care  for.  You  are  the  only  one  that 
is  to  run  it.  Do  you  know  a  picture  that  ought 
to  be  hung  in  every  girl's  room?  A  picture  of 
a  poor  house,  with  paupers  standing  about  in  their 
misery  and  humiliation.  I  might  have  married 

198 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

a  wealthy  man.  But  no,  I  had  romantic  notions 
of  love  and  all  that  sort  of  foolishness.  And  what 
does  it  all  amount  to  now?  What  became  of 
that  romance?  And  here  I  am,  having  to 
struggle  day  and  night  for  a  bare  living.  Oh, 
it's  nothing  to  smile  over.  Wait  till  you  find 
yourself  with  half  a  dozen  children,  in  the  midst 
of  a  freezing  winter,  with  coal  bills  to  contend 
with.  Then  you'll  smile  on  the  other  side  of 
your  mouth,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  you  have  no  half-dozen  children,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  And  it's  the  only  good  luck  I  possess,  the  fact 
that  I  haven't.  If  I  had,  the  Lord  only  knows 
what  would  become  of  us.  Now  that  old  man 
may  not  go  to  the  senate,  but  he  will  go  to  the 
grave,  and  when  he  does,  look  at  the  life  opened 
to  that  girl.  Oh,  I  know  it  sounds  cold-blooded 
to  speak  of  it,  but  if  we  don't  speak  of  it  we  prac- 
tice hypocrisy,  and  that  is  worse." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be,  but  do  you  think  that  a 
girl  can  be  true  to  a  man  she  doesn't  love  ?  " 

With  both  hands  my  aunt  smoothed  her  hair 
down  upon  her  forehead.  "How  true  to  him? 
What  do  you  mean?  What  are  you  blushing 

199 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

about?  Do  you  mean  true  to  her  vows?  Of 
course  she  can,  if  she  wants  to." 

"  But  suppose  she  doesn't  want  to?  " 

"  Why,  Gypsy,  you  brazen  thing.  Are  you 
such  an  animal  that  you  couldn't  be —  " 

"  Animals  are  true  to  instincts  and  not  to 
vows,"  I  broke  in  upon  her,  and  she  smoothed 
her  hair  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Even  so,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  a  fine  way  you 
have  been  educated.  Oh,  I  know  it's  the  rule 
among  women  of  today  to  despise  virtue.  They 
want  their  own  way,  and  where  does  their  own 
way  lead  them?  Surely  you  have  departed  from 
the  teachings  of  your  mother." 

'  To  the  extent  that  I  have  made  an  approach 
toward  virtue,"  I  replied;  and  with  her  mouth 
closed  my  aunt  made  a  sound  more  expressive  of 
pity  and  shame  than  could  be  set  forth  by  word. 
Seeing  that  I  had  almost  offended  her,  I  strove 
to  placate  her,  and  soon  I  told  her  that  Nevum 
had  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  the  theatre. 

'Well,  what's  to  prevent  your  going?"  she 
replied.  "  I  think  it  was  very  nice  and  consider- 
ate of  him.  Probably  he'll  take  you  to  dinner, 
and  you  can  go  from  down  town  without  having 

2OO 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

to  come  home.  Women  don't  dress  very  much 
for  the  theatre  here,  you  know,  unless  it's  on 
some  special  occasion." 

That  night  I  lay  a  long  time,  thinking,  wonder- 
ing— looking  upward  through  the  window  at  the 
stars. 


2OI 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WITHOUT   SAYING   GOODNIGHT. 

On  my  way  to  the  office  I  said  to  myself  that 
I  would  not  go  to  the  theatre  with  Nevum.  It 
was  not  that  I  desired  to  stand  counter  to  the  ad- 
vice and  the  wishes  of  my  aunt ;  it  was  not  that  in 
any  way  I  might  hold  out  an  invitation  to  any 
sort  of  temptation.  It  was  because  I  dreaded  to 
see  a  shadow  fall  from  some  dark  cloud  into  Ed- 
ward's eyes.  And  those  eyes,  they  beamed  upon 
me  the  moment  I  opened  the  door  of  the  office. 
Nevum  had  not  arrived.  Edward  came  into  the 
room.  "  To  find  that  after  a  night's  work  I  had 
become  acquainted  with  a  principle — "  I  looked 
inquiringly  at  him  as  he  began  this  speech  and  he 
hesitated.  He  had  doubtless  rehearsed  it  and  it 
had  faded  from  his  mind. 

'  You'd  better  start  all  over  again,"  said  I, 
opening  my  desk  and  proceeding  to  arrange  the 
papers. 

"  Yes,  I  will.    I  was  going  to  say  that  hereto- 

202 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

fore  if  I  got  at  one  single  principle  or  problem 
in  a  night  I'd  done  well,  but  last  night  I  must 
have  mastered  a  whole  book.  Do  you  know  why? 
That  word  of  encouragement  you  gave  me — that 
spark  from  you  which  ignited  me." 

"  But  this  is  not  the  place  to  speak  of  it,"  I 
replied,  looking  toward  the  door. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  drooping  air,  "  and  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  any  place.  But  all  places  are 
the  same — with  love." 

"  But  all  love  is  not  the  same  with  places,"  I 
laughed;  and  he  drooped  still  more,  and  tried  to 
look  cross  at  me. 

"  Come,  now,"  he  said,  moving  closer  to  me, 
his  eyes  glowing. 

"  But  you  mustn't  come  now,"  I  replied,  shak- 
ing my  head.  "  You'll  make  me  sorry  I  gave 
you  the  encouraging  word." 

"  Don't  say  that.  You'll  undo  everything. 
Shall  I  tell  you  about  last  night,  how  my  mind 
leaped  upon  everything  and  devoured  it  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  We  haven't  time.  Mr.  Nevum 
will  be  here  in  a  moment." 

"  Well,  but  what  of  it  ?    Are  we  to  scurry  like 

203 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

rats  when  he  comes  in?  He's  not  our  master,  is 
he?" 

"  He's  our  pay  master." 

"  Ah,  there  it  is — pay,  everything  pay.  What 
hope  is  there  for  a  man — what  hope  is  there  for 
love,  when  everything  stands  upon  the  basis  of 
pay — money?  I  read  speeches  and  sermons 
where  virtue  is  upheld.  I  hear  men  say  that  the 
dollar  is  not  the  aim  of  life;  but  give  them  the 
opportunity  and  they  prove  their  words  false. 
I'd  better  go  back  to  Kansas  where  they  still  have 
ideas  aside  from  money." 

He  was  sincere,  no  doubt,  but  he  was  theatric. 
He  was  making  a  virtue  of  his  poverty.  He  did 
not  move  me  other  than  with  the  spirit  of  levity. 
I  laughed  and  he  reproached  me.  He  said  that 
my  heart  was  hard.  Then  he  said  that  I  had  no 
heart.  Chicago  had  crushed  it.  I  replied  that 
I  had  come  to  Chicago  to  keep  my  heart  from 
being  crushed;  and  not  even  distress  could  look 
upon  this  idea  with  gravity,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"  They  told  me  when  I  came  that  this  was  the 
most  commercial  of  all  towns,"  said  I,  "  but  I 
find  that  every  day  they  mingle  love  with  busi- 
ness. And  such  love,  too — outstripping  senti- 

204 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ment,  rushing  like  a  telegram.  I  hear  Mr. 
Nevum." 

Edward  withdrew,  and  shortly  afterward 
Nevum  came  in,  condemning  the  elevator  for 
having  kept  him  waiting.  He  grabbed  at  every- 
thing, brushed  papers  about,  said  that  he  was  in 
a  rush,  and  began  to  pour  out  his  letters  of  threats 
and  distress  as  fast  as  I  could  take  them.  One 
was  to  the  girl  who  had  begged  so  hard  for  her 
piano.  He  told  her  that  he  had  consulted  his 
client,  had  urged  that  more  time  be  given,  but 
had  been  told  that  it  could  not  be  allowed.  He 
was  sorry.  Therefore,  unless  an  installment  of 
ten  dollars  were  paid  within  twenty-four  hours 
a  constable  would  call  upon  her  with  an  execu- 
tion. When  he  gave  me  the  sign  that  I  might 
now  go  to  work,  the  preliminaries  of  taking  the 
letters  being  regarded  as  mere  play,  I  said  to 
him :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  have  you  seen 
the  client — the  one  who  is  after  the  piano?  " 

"How's  that?"  he  inquired.  I  repeated  the 
question.  "  Oh,  have  I  seen  him  ?  Well,  .yes,  I 
suppose  so.  If  I  haven't  seen  him  I  guess  I've 
heard  from  him — either  that  or  shall  pretty  soon 
if  I  don't  hurry  things  up  a  bit." 

205 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  feel  very  sorry  for  that  poor  girl,"  said  I. 
"  Life  has  gone  hard  with  her  and  she  is  strug- 
gling. I  believe  she  will  pay  eventually.  Couldn't 
you  give  her  a  month  longer  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can.  It  wouldn't  be  busi- 
ness, you  know." 

"  I  suppose  not.  It  would  be  too  generous  to 
be  business." 

I  proceeded  with  my  work.  Several  men  called, 
at  different  times;  and  when  the  last  one  was 
gone,  Nevum  turned  to  me  and  said : 

"  Oh,  about  going  to  the  theatre  tonight.  Have 
you  made  up  your  mind?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have.  I  have  decided  not  to 
go  with  you." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"  The  theatre,"  said  I,  "  is  a  place  where  the 
human  heart  is  supposedly  reflected ;  and,  in  going 
there  we  ought  to  be  accompanied  with  as  much 
heart  as  possible.  You  have  shown  me,  by  your 
refusal  to  allow  that  girl  more  time,  that  you 
have  no  heart,  no  sympathy,  which  is  the  atmos- 
phere, the  vapor  of  heart;  and  therefore  I  don't 
care  to  go  with  you." 

206 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  did  not  know  whether 
to  scowl  or  to  smile. 

"  That  is  surely  a  woman's  way  of  putting  it," 
said  he.  "  But  don't  you  know  that  such  whims 
interfere  with  business  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  don't  you  know  that 
for  a  business  man  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  his 
stenographer  also  interferes  with  business  ?  " 

He  laughed  and  turned  about  to  receive  a  note 
from  a  messenger  boy.  When  the  boy  had  gone 
out,  Nevum  said :  "  A  woman  may  struggle  half 
a  life  time  to  be  a  moralist — and  then  during  the 
remaining  half  she  may  struggle  to  forget  it." 

"  I  haven't  yet  arrived  at  the  forgetting  age," 
I  answered,  looking  at  him  and  observing  lines 
and  shadows  on  his  face  that  I  had  not  seen  be- 
fore. 

"  Well,"  he  spoke  up,  "  what's  your  proposi- 
tion?" 

"  It  may  not  be  worth  considering — it  may  be 
foolish.  But  write  another  letter  to  the  girl,  tell 
her  that  you  will  grant  her  a  month,  and  I  will 
go  with  you  tonight." 

"  Ah,  very  generous  on  your  part  thus  to  sac- 

207 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

rifice  yourself,  I'm  sure.  Will  you  take  dinner 
with  me  down  town?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  without  hesitation. 

"  At  any  restaurant  I  may  select  ?  " 

"  At  any  respectable  restaurant." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  take  you  to  any  other  sort." 

"  There  is  no  other  sort — before  hand,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Hah,  I  can  perceive  the  influence  of  that 
shrewd  aunt  of  yours." 

*  Yes,  in  my  consent  to  go  with  you  at  all." 

"  What's  that  ?  I  don't  quite  understand.  Does 
she  favor  your  going  with  me  ?  " 

"  She  believes  as  you  do,  that  money  is  every- 
thing." 

"  As  I  do  ?  I  don't  believe  that  way.  But  your 
aunt  is  a  very  considerate  woman.  Well,  write 
the  letter  to  the  girl  and  tell  her  I've  finally  in- 
duced my  client  to  grant  her  one  month.  And 
after  this  piece  of  generosity  we  ought  to  feel  in 
good  humor  with  ourselves." 

I  wished  to  avoid  Edward — his  shadowy  eyes ; 
and  at  noon  time  I  stole  out  and  went  to  a  new 
restaurant.  But  I  was  far  from  being  happy, 
and  every  time  the  door  swung  I  expected  him  to 

208 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

come  in  with  his  wounded  look.  I  could  picture 
him,  sitting  with  his  gaze  on  the  door,  waiting 
for  me.  Then  I  fell  to  musing  as  to  how  deep 
and  enduring  was  his  love  for  me,  whether  it 
were  real  sentiment  or  mere  passion.  Of  the  lat- 
ter quality  I  knew  but  little.  But  instinct  is  the 
surest  teacher  and  I  was  not  wholly  ignorant.  It 
has  been  said  that  the  little  girl  with  a  doll  is  a 
mother;  and  the  speculations  of  inexperience  are 
sometimes  pictures  of  truths  hung  in  golden 
frames. 

Edward  was  not  in  the  office  when  I  returned. 
Some  one  else  was  there,  one  of  whom  I  had  often 
thought  since  seeing  him — Bayless,  the  architect. 
He  was  sitting  aS  if  waiting  for  the  camera  to 
snap,  with  his  cheek  lying  reflectively  in  his  hand, 
elbow  on  the  table;  and  with  a  grace  that  it  was 
pleasing  to  behold,  he  arose  and  bowed  pro- 
foundly. He  said  that  he  had  no  business,  neither 
with  Nevum  nor  with  any  one  else  in  the  office, 
but  that  as  he  was  passing,  thought  that  he 
would  drop  in  for  a  moment.  How  faultless  was 
his  dress;  how  exact  his  slow  enunciation!  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  must  have  been  the  author 
of  all  the  phrases  in  my  old  copy  book.  Gently 

209 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

taking  hold  of  a  consonant,  he  made  it  a  vowel  of 
liquid  music.  All  had  been  so  well  learned  as  to 
be  natural.  I  looked  at  his  gray  hair,  so  parted 
and  polished;  and  he  seemed  to  speak  in  silvery 
strands.  He  was  a  slowly  moving  picture  of 
automatic  dignity.  A  cool  rebuke  to  all  foibles,  a 
lecture  upon  the  unities  of  life,  with  a  smile  of 
pity  for  all  emotion,  with  a  silent  compliment  for 
all  intellectual  reserve,  he  appeared  to  me  a  sov- 
ereign, in  need  of  no  crown  to  complete  his  roy- 
alty. When  in  my  mind  I  sought  to  criticise  him, 
he  met  it  with  a  look,  a  gesture,  and  it  faded  into 
a  sort  of  thin  admiration.  All  women  must  ad- 
mire him,  I  thought ;  and  yet  I  wondered  whether 
he  could  compel  the  unrestrained  outburst  of  any 
woman's  love. 

"  You  remind  me  very  much  of  a  picture  I 
found  in  Venice,  an  etching,"  said  he;  and  it 
would  have  been  girl-like  to  make  fun  of  the  pic- 
ture, but  I  did  not.  I  said  that  I  should  like  to 
see  it.  "  Some  time  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of 
showing  it  to  you,"  he  replied.  "  You  have  her 
form,  her  hair — and  her  eyes,  suggest  yours." 

He  did  not  say  that  mine  suggested  hers,  and 
this  pleased  me,  this  delicate  discrimination  in  my 

210 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

favor.  Footsteps  approached  the  door.  They 
passed,  and  I  was  glad  that  it  was  not  quite  time 
for  Nevum  to  return.  But  Edward !  Had  I  for- 
gotten him  for  a  moment?  Yes,  but  only  as  we 
forget  the  glow  of  a  sunset  to  look  upon  a  pearl- 
hued  cloud. 

"  I  did  not  bring  home  with  me  many  works 
of  art,"  he  said.  Many  works  of  art!  He  spoke 
of  them  as  I  should  have  spoken  of  leaves  and 
grasses  gathered  in  the  country.  I  could  imagine 
my  aunt  warming  toward  him,  not  that  she  cared 
for  art  or  knew  what  it  meant,  but  that  it  in- 
volved money. 

"  But  this  picture  enraptured — or  rather  en- 
gaged me."  Enraptured  was  a  little  too  strong 
for  him.  "  It  was  in  the  lowly  house  of  a  marble 
cutter  and  bore  no  name.  But  now  I  shall  call 
it  '  Gypsy.'  If  you  do  not  object,"  he  added, 
smiling;  and  I  thought  of  a  clear  morning  when 
the  frost  sparkles  on  the  sapless  grass.  "  Ah,  I 
beg  your  pardon,  but  would  you  mind  telling  me 
something  about  yourself,  your  early  life?" 

I  could  have  replied  that  I  was  not  a  pioneer, 
to  have  had  an  early  life ;  I  did,  and  he  laughed, 

211 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

and  I  thought  of  snow  shaken  from  the  leaves. 
But  the  snow  sparkled,  and  I  was  pleased. 

Then  I  told  him  of  the  hills  near  my  old  home, 
of  the  wild  grape  vines,  of  the  black-haw  trees, 
of  the  fox  den  beneath  the  cliff,  of  rocks  and  of 
a  little  stream  that  photographed  the  sun  all  day 
long;  and  he  said  that  he  could  see  me  amid  these 
surroundings,  happy,  with  my  ringletted  hair  in 
a  black  flame  about  my  shoulders. 

"  And  you  gave  it  all  up  to  come  here  to  live 
in  this  grim  foundry,"  he  added;  and  if  his  eyes 
had  not  been  so  cool  I  should  have  thought  them 
sympathetic. 

'  Yes,  because  I  did  not  wish  to  see  it  spoiled 
— ruined.  But  I  don't  look  upon  Chicago  as  a 
foundry.  Nowhere  is  there  greener  grass  than 
in  the  parks — and  the  Fair  is  a  picture  of  all  the 
world — reduced." 

"  Very  good,"  he  answered.  "  Very.  But  you 
spoke  of  leaving  home  to  keep  from  spoiling  it  all. 
What  do  you  mean  by  that?  How  could  your 
remaining  there  have  ruined  it  all  ?  " 

He  invited  respect,  but  not  flippant  confi- 
dences ;  and  I  felt  that  to  tell  him,  on  so  short  an 
acquaintance,  would  seem  on  my  part 'a  want  of 

212 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  reserve  which  he  must  so  much  admire;  so, 
laughingly,  in  order  not  to  appear  too  serious,  I 
replied  that  I  might  tell  him  when  he  should  show 
me  the  Venetian  girl. 

"  Ah,  if  you  had  not  said  that  so  laughingly  I 
might  have  requested  you  to  appoint  a  time,  the 
sooner  the  better,"  he  replied;  and  he  looked  at 
me,  half  hoping,  I  fancied,  to  find  me  solemn ;  but 
I  laughed  again,  fearing  that  a  bearing  of  too 
much  gravity  might  make  it  appear  that  I  was 
bidding  for  an  invitation.  Now  for  a  time  we 
did  not  speak,  the  noises  from  the  street  seeming 
to  freight  a  silence  into  the  room.  I  wondered 
if  Edward  had  returned. 

"  If  I  lived  in  your  state,"  said  the  architect, 
"  I  should  be  grieved  to  remember  that  my  fath- 
ers cut  a  new  state  off  from  that  old  land  of  tra- 
dition and  romance." 

This  touched  me.  I  had  often  thought  of  it, 
sorrowfully,  not  that  I  deplored  the  cause,  but 
that  I  lamented  the  effect.  Old  Virginia  was 
lordly,  and  with  the  delicate  sympathy  of  the 
true  aristocrat,  had  first  advocated  the  abolition 
of  the  slave  trade.  I  spoke  of  it,  this  spirit  of  hu- 
manity, these  tender  hearts  beating  beneath  im- 

213 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ported  silk  and  embroidered  waistcoats;  and  he 
replied : 

"  Ah,  yes,  a  bit  of  history  not  particularly  em- 
phasized in  the  public  schools.  It  may  be  of  no 
interest  to  you,  but  my  parents  were  from  Old 
Virginia.  They  settled  in  Ohio.  If  they  had  re- 
mained where — I  was  about  to  say  where  they 
belonged — I  should  doubtless  have  been  an  artist 
instead  of  an  architect." 

"  But  now  you  are  both,"  I  replied.  For  a 
moment  his  countenance  looked  as  if  the  sun 
were  shining  upon  it,  but  I  knew  that  the  sky 
was  overcast  with  a  veil  of  fleecy  clouds. 

Nevum  entered,  pretending  to  be  in  a  great 
hurry.  "  Ah,"  he  cried,  upon  seeing  Bayless,  "  I 
was  thinking  about  you  a  moment  ago." 

"  I  hope  you  were  thinking  of  building  a  mar- 
ble temple  and  of  assigning  the  plans  to  me." 

"  It  was  not  of  a  marble  hall,"  replied  Nevum, 
"  but  since  it  was  only  a  dream  it  wouldn't  have 
been  any  more  extravagant  to  have  substituted 
alabaster  for  brick.  I  was  thinking  of  building 
a  house." 

"  Ah,"  laughed  Bayless,  "  and  you  thought  I 
would  be  pleased  to  put  your  plans  into  lines  and 

214 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cornices  and  to  make  you  a  present  of  them.  You 
thought  of  me  because  you  presumed  I  wouldn't 
charge  you  anything — because  you  have  enter- 
tained me  with  some  of  your  distresses.  I  don't 
suppose  you  ever  noticed  it,"  he  added,  speaking 
to  me,  "  but  it  is  a  fact  that  when  a  man  tells  you 
his  collection  of  hard  luck  stories  he  feels  that  he 
has  taken  you  into  his  confidence  to  a  degree  that 
should,  on  your  part,  waive  all  financial  obliga- 
tion." 

I  replied  that  I  had  not  noticed  it,  but  that  it 
had  a  plausible  aspect  and  that  it  was  doubtless 
true.  He  rewarded  me  with  a  smile  for  having 
showed  a  disposition  to  decide  in  his  favor. 
Nevum  shook  his  head  with  assumed  gravity. 
"  Our  friend  Bayless,"  said  he,  "  is  almost 
enough  of  a  poet  to  pretend  that  he  despises 
money." 

"  Very  true,  Nevum,"  Bayless  replied,  "  but  I 
haven't  as  yet  attained  to  that  state  which  might 
warrant  me  to  work  for  you  without  pay." 

Two  men  joke  each  other  and  forget.  Two 
women  joke  and  remember.  One  woman  recalls 
that  the  other  woman  has  said  a  sharp  and  un- 

215 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

gentle  thing.  If  such  a  thing  has  not  been  said, 
it  has  been  looked.  That  is  worse. 

Nevum  and  Bayless,  putting  their  heads  closer 
together,  began  to  talk  of  church  affairs.  I  gath- 
ered from  what  they  said  that  if  put  upon  oath 
they  both  of  them  would  have  confessed  to  a 
creed.  They  would  have  acknowledged  being 
Christian.  "  The  way  to  wipe  out  a  church  debt 
is  to  increase  it,"  said  Nevum.  "  Build  a  new 
church,  add  the  old  debt,  arouse  the  pride  of  the 
congregation  with  the  beauty  of  the  new  struc- 
ture, and  there  you  are — soon  to  emerge  from 
financial  trouble.  Old  men  are  ready  to  build 
new  churches.  They  wish  to  flatter  the  Lord. 
I've  got  some  figures  somewhere.  Out  here,  I 
think." 

He  withdrew  from  the  room.  Bayless  came 
over  closer  to  me.  "  He  is  about  to  turn  this 
casual  call  into  business,"  said  he.  "  But  I'm 
sorry  he  broke  into  our  conversation.  I  should 
like  to  continue  it.  Would  you  object  to  my  call- 
ing on  you  some  evening?  Please  give  me  your 
address." 

On  a  slip  of  paper  I  wrote  it  for  him.  He  put 
the  paper  into  his  pocket.  Nevum  entered. 

216 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Here  they  are,"  he  said.     Then  for  a  time 
they  talked  business,  their  voices  sinking  into  a 
beehive  hum.     But  occasionally  the  eyes  of  the 
architect  wandered  off,  to  a  map  on  the  wall,  to 
the  window,  to  me;  and  I  was  pleased  to  arrest 
his  wandering  look,  to  receive  it  into  my  eyes, 
for  a  woman  has  achieved  a  conquest  over  the 
greatest  of  her  rivals  when  she  draws  a  man's 
mind  from  "business."    During  a  long  time  they 
continued  to  talk,  low  in  their  stiff  collars,  secrets 
of  their  church,  scandals,  perhaps;  and  I  pro- 
ceeded with  my  work,  but  did  not  dismiss  the 
architect,  for  occasionally  I  looked  toward  him, 
with  a  tickling  of  my  vanity  when  his  eyes  met 
mine.    He  pleased  me  by  causing  me  to  be  pleased 
with  myself.     I  flattered  myself  through  him. 

I  saw  Edward's  face  through  the  glass  door. 
It  vanished  instantly.  But  in  one  moment  I  saw 
enough  pain  and  distress  to  cast  a  recurrent  sor- 
row over  the  afternoon — a  coming  and  a  going 
and  then  a  coming  back  of  a  deep  regret,  a  throb- 
bing ache.  Now  I  desired  that  the  architect 
should  go.  In  giving  my  mind  to  him  I  felt  that 
I  had  done  injury  to  Edward,  though  in  no  way 
had  I  acknowledged  that  I  was  bound  to  him.  At 

217 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

last  Bayless  arose  to  take  his  leave.  At  this  mo- 
ment I  struck  a  z  in  place  of  an  x,  and  in  halting 
to  erase  it,  looked  toward  the  architect.  He 
bowed  to  me.  When  he  was  gone  Nevum  said: 
"  You  two  seem  to  have  had  quite  a  visit  and 
to  have  become  pretty  well  acquainted." 

"  It  does  not  take  long  to  become  acquainted 
when  the  way  has  been  prepared,"    I    replied. 
"  You  desired  that  we  should  meet,  you  know." 
"  All  women  are  the  embodiment  of  one  an- 
other.   They  never  forget  a  man's  mistake,"  he 
said,  looking  upon  me  as  if  he  had  discovered  a 
deplorable  truth.    "  One  day  I  happened  to  men- 
tion him,  as — well,  a  sort  of  artist,  a  man  out 
of  the  common.    I  didn't  think  I  had  been  dele- 
gated by  Fate  to  bring  you  together." 

"  If  we  enter  into  a  discussion  now,"  said  I, 
"  it  will  take  us  the  entire  evening  to  explain  our- 
selves— to  the  interruption  of  the  play." 

"  Oh,  you  are  still  in  the  humor  to  keep  your 
promise,  eh?  Very  well.  And  to  take  dinner 
with  me.  Very  well  again." 

From  this  time  until  half  after  six  I  was  busy, 
looking  often  toward  the  glass  door,  with  the 
throbbing,  the  coming  and  going  of  the  regret; 

218 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

but  I  did  not  see  Edward's  face  again.  When 
Nevum  and  I  went  out,  the  office  was  deserted. 
He  said  something  about  a  private  dining  room, 
but  I  cut  him  off  with  an  objection.  He  did  not 
presume  to  argue  with  me,  but  said  that  I  was  the 
one  to  be  pleased.  I  did  not  think  that  this  was 
true,  but  said  nothing. 

We  entered  a  place  that  was  too  curtain-drawn 
to  be  wholly  without  suspicion.  It  was  up  one 
flight  of  stone  steps.  From  the  hall  corridor  an 
elevator  was  constantly  taking  men  and  women 
to  the  floors  above.  Nevum  looked  toward  the 
elevator  and  then  at  me.  I  shook  my  head.  We 
then  went  into  the  public  cafe.  There  were  not 
many  persons  in  the  room,  but  every  one  present, 
both  men  and  women,  gazed  at  me.  I  thought  of 
Charlotte  Corday  when  the  string  broke,  reveal- 
ing her  bosom  to  vulgar  eyes.  But  if  I  were  an 
assassin  it  was  not  of  tyranny  but  of  my  own 
modesty.  'Nevum  divined  the  cause  of  my 
blushes,  for  I  must  have  blushed.  "  The  place  is 
eminently  respectable,"  said  he.  "  These  people 
are  foreigners  and  are  paying  you  the  compli- 
ment of  their  admiration." 

Vanity,  the  rose  water  that  cools  a  blush!     I 

219 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

was  soothed;  not  only  that,  I  was  flattered.  For 
my  mother  I  had  danced  in  drop-stitch  stockings. 
My  love  for  admiration  dated  back  to  the  nest. 
It  had  been  fed  often,  but  never  gorged.  I  was 
hungrier  for  it  than  I  was  for  food. 

"  You  look  handsomer  than  I  ever  saw  you," 
said  Nevum.  A  German  with  twirled-up  mus- 
tache was  gazing  at  me.  Nevum  asked  me  if  I 
would  not  do  him  the  honor  to  drink  a  glass  of 
wine.  I  wanted  it,  but  declined.  He  did  not 
urge  me.  "  You  must  not  make  me  appear 
cheap,"  was  his  mild  protest.  The  meal  was  any- 
thing rather  than  cheap.  It  was  a  feast  worthy 
of  all  remembrance,  to  an  epicure  a  gratification 
and  to  a  novice  a  surprise.  As  we  were  going 
out,  the  twirled-up  mustache  stared  at  me.  I 
thought  of  my  dress,  my  working  clothes,  and 
resented  his  impudence. 

I  do  not  remember  much  of  the  play.  The  ma- 
jority of  plays  are  like  dreams.  No  matter  how 
vivid,  they  leave  but  an  indistinct  vision  in  the 
mind.  To  endure,  they  must  be  read.  Then 
they  may  be  mused  over,  the  strong  parts  read 
again  and  again.  But  you  cannot  go  back  over 
a  vision  to  note  its  beauties.  It  moves  away  from 

220 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

your  touch,  like  a  fog.  Once  when  the  foot-lights 
were  lowered,  I  thought  of  Edward's  downcast 
look.  I  wondered  if  he  were  sighing  over  me. 
Did  I  wish  him  to  sigh  over  me  ?  I  did.  It  were 
a  tribute,  a  conquest  and  therefore  was  sweet. 
And  the  architect.  Did  I  wish  him  to  sigh  ?  Yes. 
They  say  that  vanity  is  frail.  But  sometimes  it 
is  strong.  It  is  willing  to  torture  itself  that  it 
may  afterward  enjoy  a  victory.  Edward's  face 
at  the  glass  door  was  a  torture,  but  it  was  a  vic- 
tory. 

As  we  came  out  upon  the  sidewalk,  Nevum 
said  that  he  would  take  me  home  in  a  carriage. 
I  drew  back ;  but  he  had  by  this  time  spoken  to  a 
hackman.  The  door  of  the  vehicle  was  opened. 
Fearing  to  create  a  scene,  I  entered.  We  rolled 
away  with  a  sort  of  velvety  motion.  The  air  was 
soft — the  streets  seemed  to  be  of  down. 

"Did  you  like  the  play?"  he  inquired.  He 
was  close  to  me.  I  gave  him  more  room. 

"  I  don't  know — exactly.  There  were  not 
many  pretty  dresses." 

"  Dresses !  Is  that  all  there  is  to  art — 
dresses?" 

"  About  all  there  is  to  woman's  art." 

221 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  don't  think  you  believe  that." 

"  Whether  I  believe  it  or  not,  you  can't  help 
but  see  it's  true.  I  ought  not  to  have  gone  into 
that — eminently  respectable  restaurant,  dressed 
as  I  was." 

"You  could  not. have  looked  more  like  a  pic- 
ture. You  were  entrancing.  You  brought  in  a 
new  atmosphere ;  you  cast  a  spell  over  the  place." 
He  touched  my  hand.  I  withdrew  it.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  he  said,  as  if  it  had  been  an  acci- 
dent. "  As  I  looked  upon  your  glowing  cheeks 
tonight,  I  wondered  how  your  heart  could  be  so 
cold,"  he  said. 

'  There  is  a  glow  in  the  sunlight  reflected 
from  ice,"  I  replied,  laughing. 

"  Ah,  that  was  it,  a  northern  light,"  he  said 
with  a  gurgle.  "  Ah,  but  snow-capped  moun- 
tains may  be  volcanic  and  may  gush  forth  fire," 
he  added.  I  gave  him  more  room.  "  You  seem 
to  be  afraid  of  me." 

I  pretended  to  be  surprised.  "  Afraid  of  you  ? 
Why?" 

"  I  don't  know.  And  your  heart  may  one  day 
gush  fire — celestial  fire.  You  could  enchant  a 
god." 

222 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  would  rather  inspire  a  plowman."  I  said 
this  because  I  thought  it  poetic. 

'  'Ah,"  he  quickly  replied,  "  but  if  you  should 
you  would  then  leave  him  helpless." 

"  The  inspired  don't  need  help.  They  con- 
quor." 

"  Then  if  you  should  inspire  a  plowman  you 
would — give  yourself  to  him." 

"  Perhaps  he  would  take  me.  I  could  not  de- 
fend myself  against  the  power  of  my  own  in- 
spiration." 

"  But  why  think  of  a  plowman  ?  There  is  no 
man  that  would  not  be  proud  of  you,  your  ap- 
pearance, your  mind." 

"  I  didn't  know  I  had  a  mind." 

"  Don't  blaspheme  the  source  of  such  an  en- 
dowment. It  is  a  constant  marvel  to  me,  a  won- 
der never  ceasing.  You  were  surely  intended 
for  great  things." 

'  To  beg  for  girls  that  they  may  keep  their 
pianos." 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  that,"  he  said  in  tones 
of  pleading.  He  was  so  near  me  now  that  I  could 
feel  him  trembling.  "  You  make  me  believe  that 

223 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

your  coming  with  me  was  but  a  sacrifice.     Was 
it?" 

"  Dinners,  music,  theatres  are  not  sacrifices. 
They  are  pleasures." 

"  Thank  you.     But  speaking  of  your  mind. 
You  are  intended  for  something  better  than — " 

"  Writing  duns,"  I  broke  in. 

"  Well,  yes.  Better  than  working  at  all.  You 
ought  to  adorn  a  home." 

"  Any  one  who  has  a  home  ought  to  adorn  it," 
I  replied. 

"  Why  do  you  quibble  so  ?  Why  don't  you 
— at  least  try  to  be  serious?" 

"  We  are  never  serious  when  we  try,  but  when 
we  can't  help  it." 

"  Well,  then,  why  don't  you  be  serious  with- 
out trying?  But  wait  a  moment  before  you  say 
something  to  sidetrack  me.  You  said  a  moment 
ago  that  any  one  who  has  a  home  ought  to  adorn 
it.  That  is  true.  And  is  it  not  true,  also,  that 
in  the  economy  of  this  life  every  one — every 
woman  ought  to  have  a  home?  Have  you  ever 
thought  of  that?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  it." 
224 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  I  offer  you  a  home  and  you  refuse  it. 
You  said  you  could  not  love  me." 

He  was  so  serious,  and  this  id^a  was  so  ridic- 
ulous. With  my  handkerchief  I  smothered  the 
noise  of  my  laughter.  Saying  that  I  could  not 
love  him  was  refusing  a  home.  I  shrieked  in- 
wardly. "  Don't  you  remember  ?"  he  went  on. 
"  Surely  you  do." 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  I  replied :  "  Yes,  I 
remember  saying  that  I  could  not  love  you." 

"  Do  you  still  hold  that  opinion  ?" 

"  The  truth  remains  the  same.  It  was  not 
merely  an  opinion." 

"  I  could  make  you  happy." 

"  Which  is  to  say  that  you  could  compel  me 
to  be  happy.  Real  happiness  is  a  privilege  that 
we  permit  one  to  enjoy.  Wre  might  compel  sub- 
mission but  not  happiness." 

"  Quibbling  again.  Whose  foolish  dialogues 
did  you  study  at  school?  Who  strove  with  va- 
porous logic  to  smoke  the  truth  out  of  your 
mind?" 

"  That  is  very  good.  I  like  you  best  when 
you  talk  that  way.  You  give  me  something  to 

225 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

think  over,  to  remember  and  to  wonder  as  to 
what  you  could  have  meant." 

"  But  when  my  meaning  is  perfectly  clear — 
and  honorable;  then  you  don't  like  me  so  well. 
I  have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife  and  you  con- 
tinue to  quibble." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  complimentary  lack  of 
judgment  as  to  myself.  But  I  can't  accept  the 
honor.  I  should  nof  make  you  a  good  wife.  A 
domesticated  vanity  is  a  very  pretty  adornment, 
but  my  vanities  have  not  all  of  them  been  'tamed/ 
I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  fetters  unless  I 
should  forge  them  myself.  The  King  of  Cypress 
was  chained  with  gold,  but  he  was  nevertheless 
a  prisoner." 

"  Come,  please  don't  talk  like  a  librarian.  Be 
a  natural  woman." 

"  But  you  are  asking  me  to  be  unnatural.  You 
want  me  to  marry  you  and  that,  too,  when  I 
have  said  that  I  can't  love  you.  If  I  could  love 
you,  pleading  on  your  part  would  not  be  neces- 
sary. I  would  rush  to  your  arms  and  almost 
strangle  you  with  affection." 

He  sighed.  "  You  are  a  puzzle  to  me.  We 
see  precocious  children,  but  a  precocious  wom- 

226 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

an — is  unnatural,  almost  unheard  of,  a  sarcasm 
directed  at  her  own  sex."  I  had  heard  this  be- 
fore— from  the  Judge.  Nevum  continued :  "  I 
tell  you  that  I  am  a  man  accustomed  to  talk  on 
knotty  points,  tangled  phases  of  life — to  juries 
who  hold  life  or  death  in  their  hands.  Circum- 
stances have  forced  me  into  a  distasteful  business, 
but  I  shall  get  out  of  it.  I  am  not  too  old.  I  have 
a  daughter  about  grown,  but  I  married  young." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  you  are  fitted  by  educa- 
tion and  experience  for  better  work.  I  don't 
question  that  you  are  sincere,  at  this  moment. 
But  the  spirit  that  stimulates  argument  now, 
would,  if  we  were  married  to  each  other,  foster 
quarreling.  You  have  paid  tribute  to  my  mind. 
But  don't  you  know  that  mental  and  moral  qual- 
ities are  not  necessarily  twin  sisters  ?  They  may 
not  be  even  second  cousins.  In  fact  they  may 
be  strangers." 

"  But  gracious  alive,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you 
don't  mean  to  hint  that  you  are  not  wholly 
moral,  do  you?" 

"  I'm  not  hinting  at  all.  I  am  saying.  But 
I  don't  know  to  what  degree  I  am  moral.  I  have 
never  been  tried.  My  classmate  was  tried  and 

227 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

she — I  don't  know  whether  to  say  that  she  fell 
or  arose.  She  embraced  nature.  She  set  aside 
her  unnatural  vows.  I  might  possibly  do  the 
same.  The  warmth  of  my  heart  might  lull  my 
brain  to  sleep." 

He  protested  that  he  could  not  believe  me. 
He  swore  that  he  would  trust  me  to  the  end 
of  the  world.  "  And  at  the  end  of  the  world," 
said  I,  "  there  might  be  a  jumping  off  place. 
Suppose  I  should  jump?  I  wish  that  I  could  be 
frank  without  giving  offense." 

"  I  don't  see  how  in  the  name  of  God  you 
could  be  more  frank,"  he  replied,  with  a 
groan.  "  If  you  think  anything  else,  say  it.  Don't 
think  to  spare  me." 

'  Well,"  said  I,  "  mystery  of  sex  is  the  stim- 
ulous  of  marriage.  Old  men — I  beg  your  par- 
don— old  men  do  not  come  with  that  mystery. 
With  them  the  mystery  seems  to  have  been 
solved.  You  do  not  appeal  to  me  sexually." 

"  God,  what  frankness,"  he  groaned. 

"  I  wish  you  had  said,  God  what  sense,"  I  re- 
plied. 

He  sighed  deeply  and  said :  "  You  talk  like 
a  professor  of  physiology."  And  after  a  few 

228 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

moments  he  added :    "  Then  you  place  sexuality 
above  everything." 

"  In  the  matter  of  marriage — love  ?  Yes.  Na- 
ture has  done  so.  And  when  we  oppose  na- 
ture, we  suffer  for  it." 

For  a  long  time  we  were  silent.  The  carriage 
rolled  on,  street  lamps  flashed  glimpses  of  light 
in  upon  us.  I  was  not  acquainted  with  the  land- 
marks, but  it  seemed  from  the  time  consumed 
that  we  must  be  nearing  my  home.  I  did  not 
wish  to  resume  the  conversation.  I  had  spoken 
with  a  freedom  that  had  surprised  even  my- 
self, but  I  did  not  regret  a  word.  I  drew  a  sort 
of  contentment,  not  to  say  a  congratulation,  from 
the  belief  that  I  had  been  honest. 

"  I  never  expected  to  hear  a  young  woman 
talk  that  way,"  said  Nevum.  "  So  you  refuse 
to  be  my  wife." 

"  I  would  not  be  so  harsh  as  that.  I  decline 
to  be  your  wife;  and,  very  much  for  your  good." 

"  More  unnecessary  boldness.  If  all  women 
should  talk  to  all  men  as  you  have  talked  to  me, 
there  wouldn't  be  any  more  marriages." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  I  assented. 
229 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  And  the  race  of  man  would  come  to  an  end," 
said  he. 

"  That  wouldn't  hurt  the  past  and  there 
wouldn't  be  any  future  to  care,"  I  replied;  and 
a  glimpse  of  light  revealed  that  he  was  pressing 
his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

"  It  is  evident  that  you  don't  care  for  the  love 
of  an  honest  man." 

"  Honesty  does  not  necessarily  stimulate  love. 
A  woman  loves  because  she  can't  help  it  and 
not  because  she  has  a  reason  for  loving.  Every 
woman  who  loves  is  doomed  to  suffer,  no  mat- 
ter how  much  she  may  be  loved  in  return.  Her 
own  love  enslaves  her." 

"  Ah,"  he  cried,  "  that  is  my  argument.  It 
proves  that  she  ought  not  to  love  so  much,  that 
without  this  intoxication  she  really  would  be 
happier.  Let  love  be  a  heightened  friendship. 
Let  it  manifest  itself  not  in  delirium  but  in  the 
adornment  of  a  home." 

The  carriage  slackened  its  speed,  veering  to- 
ward the  side  walk.  "  Here  we  are,"  said  I. 

He  took  my  hand.  I  did  not  resist  him. 
Since  there  was  so  perfect  an  understanding  it 
could  be  in  no  other  spirit  than  that  of  respect. 

230 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

But  he  attempted  to  put  his  arm  about  me,  to 
kiss  me.  I  turned  upon  him  with  a  force  that 
must  have  left  no  doubt  as  to  my  feelings.  The 
old  fool  had  mistaken  my  frankness.  He  tried 
to  apologize,  saying  repeatedly  that  he  meant 
no  harm,  but  I  left  him  without  saying  good 
night. 


231 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SAID   SHE  WAS   SILLY. 

My  aunt  had  gone  to  bed  but  I  went  to  her 
room,  gave  an  account  of  the  night,  and  told 
her  that  I  should  have  to  seek  another  place. 
She  sat  up  in  bed,  for  a  time  too  indignant  to 
speak;  and  when  she  spoke  she  said:  "Trying 
to  compel  you  to  marry  him,  and  the  chances 
are  that  he  rents  the  house  he  lives  in." 

And  so  to  her,  his  crime  was  that  he  was  not 
sufficiently  well  off.  I  emphasized  the  fact  that 
he  had  unmannerly  striven  to  kiss  me,  and  she 
said :  "  Yes,  and  it  shows  how  he  was  brought 
up.  But  did  he  tell  you  how  much  he  was  worth  ?  " 

"  No  aunt,  and  I  didn't  care.  I  wouldn't  mar- 
ry him  even  if  he  owned  half  of  the  South  Side." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  extravagant,  my  dear,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Be  reasonable,  at  least."  And  then  she 
added :  "  I  don't  think  you'll  have  any  trouble 
in  finding  another  situation.  Good  looking  girls 
never  do.  But  my  dear,  you  must  curb  your 

232 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

opinions.  A  woman  to  get  along  well  with  men 
shouldn't  have  any  opinions,  except  on  trivial 
matters.  Try  to  remember  this.  I  am  older  than 
you  and  therefore  have  more  experience,  and  I 
know  that  opinions  have  hurt  me,  many  and 
many  a  time.  If  you  think  of  a  bright  thing, 
try  to  engineer  it  so  that  the  man  may  say  it. 
Laugh.  You've  got  good  teeth — so  laugh.  That 
will  be  an  answer  to  every  question.  Well,  to- 
morrow you  may  go  down  and  find  another 
place.  You'd  better  send  a  note  very  early  tell- 
ing that  Nevum  you  are  not  coming.  And  re- 
mind him  to  send  any  little  balance  that  may 
be  due  you,  out  here — at  once.  You'll  find  a 
letter  for  you  on  the  mantelpiece." 

The  letter  was  from  my  mother.  After  say- 
ing that  she  thought  she  would  write  me  a  few 
lines  she  informed  me  that  Samuel  was  not  do- 
ing much  of  anything,  that  she  needed  several 
articles  of  dress  and  that  as  soon  as  I  could  I 
must  send  her  some  money.  "  While  you  are 
living  in  luxury  you  must  remember  those  who 
are  not  so  fortunate,"  said  she,  underscoring 
luxury.  "  I  know  you  will  smile  at  me,  but  there 
is  going  to  be  a  ball  over  at  Howerson's  and  I 

233 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

want  to  go,  especially  as  they  have  invited  me 
most  cordially;  and  you  know  that  they  are  at 
the  top  of  our  heap.  So,  if  you  can  fit  me  out 
with  any  little  thing,  please  do  so.  Annie  Pat- 
terson, nee  Sampson,  you  remember,  was  over 
the  other  day,  and  a  more  miserable  woman  I 
never  saw.  She  married  for  love,  you  remem- 
ber, bidding  defiance  to  her  mother's  advice. 
She  could  have  done  well,  but  she  chose  to  do 
otherwise.  The  man  she  married  worked  hard 
enough,  and  he  seems  to  think  a  great  deal  of 
her,  but  she  lives  in  a  mean  little  old  house  and 
no  one  cares  to  go  to  see  her.  And  why?  Not 
because  they  don't  think  just  as  mudTof  her  as 
ever  they  did,  but  for  the  reason  that  they  don't 
care  to  look  upon  her  in  her  want.  There  was  a 
case  of  most  passionate  love  for  you,  and  what 
has  it  amounted  to?  Misery.  Remember  that. 
Misery.  I  suppose  you  see  Olive  quite  frequent- 
ly. Her  mother  has  just  received  a  letter  from 
her,  saying  that  she  spent  the  night  with  you 
not  long  ago.  And  she  is  so  happy.  I  never 
gave  Olive  credit  for  very  much  sense — thought 
she  was  giddy  and  all  that — but  I  must  say  she 
has  turned  out  to  the  credit  of  the  family." 

234 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  wrote  to  her  that  night,  enclosing  more 
money  than  I  could  spare.  I  smiled  to  think 
that  Olive  had  shed  such  luster  upon  the  fam- 
ily name.  I  recalled  the  girl  who  had  married 
for  love  and  so  miserably;  at  school  she  had 
been  bright,  in  society  a  sort  of  belle.  The 
neighbors  said  that  she  had  thrown  herself  away, 
on  that  man,  that  honest  but  unfortunate  man, 
and  doubtless  she  had.  She  would  teach  her 
daughters  to  marry  for  money. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  dispatched  a  note  by 
messenger  to  Nevum,  telling  him  that  under  the 
circumstances  I  could  not  possibly  come  to  his 
office  again.  I  thought  of  sending  some  word 
to  Edward,  but  decided  not  to,  that  it  might 
bring  him  out  to  the  house  and  involve  me  in 
an  argument  or  at  least  a  discussion  with  my 
aunt.  I  knew  that  he  would  come  soon;  and  I 
was  possessed  of  a  sort  of  hunger  to  see  him, 
to  say  something  that  might  drive  the  shadows 
from  his  eyes.  And  yet  I  felt  that  the  time  would 
soon  come  when  I  should  have  to  defend  my- 
self against  him,  his  love,  his  passion,  his  beg- 
ging me  to  marry  him.  It  had  been  so  sweet, 
so  freshly  sweet  to  indulge  my  fancy,  to  permit 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

my  mind  to  enwrap  him  in  fondness.  But  now 
I  must  steel  myself  against  myself.  My  mother 
was  not  wholly  wrong.  Love  has  no  common 
sense;  passion  looks  only  upon  the  present;  so 
while  there  was  common  sense  left  to  me,  it 
ought  to  protect  me.  I  must  be  sane. 

Before  starting  upon  an  indefinite  round,  to 
look  for  a  situation,  I  called  at  the  hotel  to  see 
Olive.  A  rap  on  her  door  was  answered  by 
an  invitation,  in  her  voice,  to  enter.  I  did  so; 
and  she  and  Pague  both  looked  as  if  they  might 
have  just  reached  the  "  curtain  "  of  a  little  scene. 
She  was  lolling  on  a  sofa,  book  in  hand,  eyes 
red.  He  was  sitting  at  a  table  with  a  sort  of  blank 
book  open  before  him.  Olive  sprang  up,  em- 
braced me,  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks.  Pague 
held  out  his  hand  and  said  that  he  was  more  than 
pleased  to  see  me.  He  could  have  made  his  as- 
sertion more  pleasing  had  he  added :  "  And  I 
must  go  now."  But  he  didn't;  he  closed  his  book, 
crossed  his  legs  and  twirled  his  thumbs. 

"  We  have  just  had  a  row  over  my  cousin," 
said  Olive. 

"  Not  a  row,  my  dear,"  replied  Pague. 

"  Yes,  Gypsy,  a  positive  row.    I  told  him  just 

236 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

now  that  when  we  returned  home  he  mustn't 
speak  of  having  seen  Cousin  George  here — the 
fact  is,  you,  know,  he  left  the  military  school  with- 
out permission.  And  Mr.  Pague  says  that  his 
mother  ought  to  be  apprised  of  the  fact.  But  that 
isn't  all.  Mr.  Pague  doesn't  want  me  to  see  him 
any  more." 

"  Now  my  dear,  I  didn't  say  that,"  Pague  in- 
terposed. "  I  said  that  it  didn't  look  well  for 
you  to  be  together  so  often.  There's  no  harm 
in  it,  I'm  sure,  but  people  will  talk,  you  know." 

"  And  he  has  complained  of  expenses,"  said 
Olive.  "  Oh,  I  never  thought  it  could  come  to 
this — complaining  of  what  little  pleasure  I  take 
in  being  here.  He  has  actually  said  that  we 
couldn't  afford  it.  Oh,  I  never  thought  it  could 
come  to  that." 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  dear,"  Pague  insisted. 
"  I  said  I  couldn't  afford  to  lose  so  much  time 
from  my  business.  I  must  look  after  my  affairs 
or  after  a  while  I'll  have  nothing  to  look  after." 

"  Well,"  she  cried,  "  why  don't  you  give  me 
the  money  you  promised  me?  Then  you  can 
go  on  and  look  after  your  affairs.  No,  you  think 
I'm  a  child  to  be  scolded  and  then  petted  and 

237 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

then  sent  to  bed.    But  I'm  not.    I  am  a  woman." 

"  I  believe  you  are,  my  dear,"  he  agreed,  "  and 
I  am  trying  to  treat  you  as  such.  The  fact  is 
that  I  must  go  home  tomorrow." 

"  Then  will  you  let  me  go  out  and  stay  with 
Gypsy  tonight?  Do  this  and  I  will  consent  to 
go  home." 

"  Your  aunt  keeps  a  boarding  house,  I  be- 
lieve," said  Pague,  speaking  to  me.  And  then, 
nodding  at  Olive,  he  continued :  "  We  can  both 
go  out  there  tonight  and  remain  until  it  is  time 
to  go  to  the  train.  Will  that  plan  suit  you?" 

"  No,  it  won't.  It  shows  that  you  don't  trust 
me.  Do  you  suppose  that  two  young  women 
want  a  man  stuck  around  all  the  time?  Don't 
you  know  that  two  girl  friends  have  little  se- 
crets so  foolish  that — that  they  don't  want  any 
man  to  hear  them?  No,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Pague, 
you  haven't  any  confidence  in  me.  Oh,  it's  that 
and  you  needn't  say  it  isn't.  You  have  found 
fault  with  me  because  I  can't  sit  up  like  a  law- 
yer and  talk  about  business.  You  turn  my  youth 
to  flaws.  Yes,  you  do,  and  you  know  it.  And 
this  is  what  I  get  for  loving  you." 

She  turned  about  upon  the  sofa  and  buried  her 

238 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

face  in  a  pillow.  Pague  arose  with  a  sigh,  went 
to  her,  sought  to  soothe  her,  slipped  his  hand 
beneath  the  pillow,  drew  her  head  up  against 
his  breast  and  spoke  tender  and  foolish  words. 
But  she  sobbed  that  he  had  no  confidence  in  her. 
Finally  he  told  her  that  he  would  give  his  con- 
sent; and  she  arose  with  a  smile,  the  tears 
gleaming  in  her  eyes;  and  she  threw  her  arms 
about  him  and  kissed  him  and  then  flew  to  me 
and  then  back  again  to  him  to  reward  him  with 
another  kiss.  Soon  after  this  re-establishment 
of  perfect  confidence,  and  while  Olive  was  sit- 
ting on  the  sofa  beaming  pleasure  from  her  eyes, 
I  remarked  that  I  was  out  to  look  for  a  place, 
and  that,  too,  without  a  "  character  "  from  my 
former  employer.  Olive  declared  that  she  would 
go  with  me.  Pague  objected.  "Why  not?"  she 
asked,  pouting. 

"  Well,  because — well,  I  don't  want  you  to 
go  into  office  buildings  as  if  you  were  looking 
for  work." 

"  Oh,  are  office  buildings  such  dreadful 
places?"  she  inquired.  "I  thought  they  were 
places  of  business  and  not — traps  for  women," 
she  went  on.  "  But  of  course  you  ought  to  know. 

239 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

You  have  been  about  them  a  good  deal.  How- 
ever, if  they  are  not  fit  for  me,  surely  they  are 
no  place  for  you.  A  man  oughtn't  to  go  anywhere 
if  he  is  ashamed  to  have  his  wife  go  there.  No, 
he  oughtn't." 

"  Olive,"  he  cried,  losing  patience,  "  for  the 
Lord's  sake  don't  be  silly." 

"  Silly,"  she  repeated.  "  Oh,  now  I  under- 
stand you.  You  think  I'm  silly.  You  don't 
want  me  to  go  out  alone  because  you  think  I 
might  disgrace  you.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  before?  You  were  wrong  to  keep  it  from 
me.  I  wouldn't  have  treated  you  that  way.  But 
I'm  going  just  the  same.  Did  you  hear  what 
I  said?  I  said  I  was  going  just  the  same." 

"  If  you  go,  I  go,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  you  are  ?  Now  that  would  be  a  pretty 
come  off,  wouldn't  it?  All  of  us  trooping  in, 
asking  for  a  job.  They  would  take  us  for  your 
granddaughters  and  think  we  were  out  trying 
to  get  work  to  support  you.  Yes,  by  all  means 
go  with  us,  dear." 

:<  Well,  how  long  will  you  be  gone  ?"  he  in- 
quired, looking  at  his  watch. 

"  I  can't  tell  as  to  that,"  I  replied.    "  It  might 

240 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

not  take  more  than  half  an  hour  and  it  might 
take  all  day.  It  is  necessary  that  I  should  find 
a  place  and  I  must  keep  at  it  until  I  do." 

I  arose  to  go.  Olive  took  down  her  cloak  and 
hat.  "  Come  on,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  No,  I  won't  go,"  he  replied.  "  It  seems  that 
your  only  thought  is  to  get  away  from  me  and 
it  would  be  cruel  not  to  indulge  you.  Go  on. 
Take  good  care  of  her,  Miss  Gypsy." 

Out  in  the  corridor  Olive  clutched  my  arm  and 
giggled.  "  Oh,  the  free  air,"  she  said. 


241 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

FEELING  ABOUT   FOR  HIS  HAT. 

The  early  autumn  sun  was  glorious.  Cham- 
pagne bubbles  were  rising  in  the  air,  bursting, 
intoxicating  us.  "  Let  us  go  to  the  Fair,"  said 
Olive.  "  There  is  plenty  of  time  to  get  a  situa- 
tion, and  such  days  as  these  don't  come  often. 
It  is  a  poem,  so  new  that  it  doesn't  seem  ever 
to  have  been  read  before.  Look  at  it,  the  leaves 
are  uncut."  She  almost  danced  along  the  side- 
walk. 

"  Let  us  at  least  make  a  pretense,"  I  replied. 
"  We'll  go  up  here." 

We  entered  a  large  real  estate  office.  A  young 
man  came  forward  to  a  railing  and  asked  as 
to  whom  we  wished  to  see.  I  told  him  that  I 
desired  to  speak  to  the  head  of  the  firm — con- 
cerning employment.  He  inquired  if  I  had  en- 
tered into  correspondence  with  him.  I  pretended 
that  I  had.  This  deception  amused  Olive,  and 
it  ought  to  have  caused  me  to  blush,  but  it  didn't. 

242 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

We  were  shown  into  a  private  office.  The  man- 
ager, a  young  and  brisk  man,  regarded  us  with 
surprise.  He  was  all  "  business  "  and  I  saw  that 
no  levity  would  be  tolerated  by  him.  It  is  easier 
to  natter  age  than  youth. 

The  manager  inquired  if  he  could  be  of  any 
service  to  us.  I  told  him  without  a  smile  that 
I  was  looking  for  employment  as  a  stenog- 
rapher. 

"  I  don't  know  but  your  visit  is  timely,"  he 
replied.  "  I  think  we  need  another  girl."  He 
touched  a  button.  A  bell  rang.  A  man  ap- 
peared. "  Ask  Roland  if  he  needs  a  stenog- 
rapher." 

The  man  withdrew.  I  tried  to  look  "  busi- 
ness "  at  the  manager.  The  man  returned  and 
said  that  Mr.  Roland  would  see  me.  We  passed 
through  a  large  office  where  there  was  a  hail- 
storm of  typewriting.  No  one  looked  up  at  us. 
Within  a  railed  off  square  sat  another  man  that 
looked  like  "  business."  He  glanced  at  us  and 
inquired  which  one  was  it  that  desired  employ- 
ment. Upon  receiving  the  information  he 
seemed  pleased.  He  asked  as  to  the  salary  I  had 
received  formerly.  I  told  him,  making  it  just 

243 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

a  little  higher.  "  Very  well,  call  tomorrow  morn- 
ing and  we  may  enter  into  an  arrangement," 
said  he. 

"  Why,  how  easy  it  was,"  said  Olive  as  we 
went  out.  "  And  look  at  the  money  you'll  get 
— almost  enough  to  dress  on.  But  more  than 
all  that  you  are  free — free.  You  don't  know 
what  that  word  implies.  It's  the  most  beautiful 
word  in  the  language.  Every  time  I  get  out  I 
repeat  it  over  and  over  to  myself." 

She  continued  to  repeat  the  word  over  and 
over.  "  But  where  are  we  going  now  ?"  she  in- 
quired. <fNot  back  to  the  hotel,  are  we?" 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  go  back  there, 
report  progress  and  then  go  to  the  Fair.  Then 
you  can  go  over  and  stay  all  night  with  me,  as 
you  had  intended,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  I  always  have  such  a  hard  time  in 
getting  away.  I'd  have  to  go  over  all  of  my 
arguments  again." 

This  was  true,  I  was  prepared  to  believe;  so 
we  went  to  the  Fair,  now  dying  its  sublime 
death.  The  leaves  were  tinged  with  the  chill 
of  the  night,  the  South  Sea  Islanders  were  shiv- 
ering. The  brides  of  June  looked  tired,  and 

244 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

bridegrooms  had  begun  again  to  think  about 
business  at  home  and  were  worried.  Romance 
was  dying  \vith  the  Fair.  Ah,  would  it  ever  live 
again  for  those  brides,  those  hearts  arrayed  in 
bedraggled  sentiment?  The  end  of  the  honey- 
moon, the  beginning  of  the  failure  of  marriage! 
Temperament,  so  artfully  hidden,  would  now 
rise  into  view.  Opinions  put  submissively  aside 
would  now  assert  themselves.  Cynicism,  the 
surgeon  of  marriage,  would  soon  begin  its  un- 
successful operation. 

"  New  shoes — brides,  brides,"  said  Olive. 
"  But  perhaps  they  love  their  husbands.  Such 
a  thing  can  be,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered.  "  But  I  should 
hope  so." 

"  Yes,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love,"  she  said. 
"I  know  it.  If  I  don't,  who  does?" 

I  asked  her  if  she  would  rather  be  married 
to  a  poor  man  whom  she  loved  and  be  compelled 
to  work  for  her  living.  She  turned  to  me  with 
her  eyes  ablaze.  "  Yes — rather  take  in  wash- 
ing," she  replied.  "  Ah,  we  might  sing  over  the 
wash  tub,  but  over  an  unhappy  marriage  we  can 

245 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

only  groan.  You  hear  him  tell  me  not  to  be  silly. 
He  does  not  suspect  that  I  have  a  mind." 

"  That  you  took  a  prize  for  an  essay,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Essay!  I  don't  suppose  he  thinks  I  can  more 
than  write  my  name.  Never  has  he  tried  to 
engage  me  on  a  subject  that  involved  any 
thought.  He  thinks  that  I  ought  to  find  per- 
fect happiness  in  the  trinkets  he  gives  me.  Let's 
not  go  in  here.  It's  the  woman's  building — play 
house  for  men  to  laugh  at.  Let's  go  to  the  art 
palace." 

We  halted  before  a  picture,  the  picture  of  a 
young  girl  sitting  at  the  feet  of  an  old  man, 
gazing  up  into  his  face.  "  Come  on,"  said  Olive, 
"  the  girl  may  be  his  wife." 

"  His  granddaughter,"  I  replied,  admiring 
the  picture. 

"  No,"  she  insisted,  "  let  us  go.  You  never 
can  tell,  and  I'm  not  going  to  take  any  chances." 

She  despised  age.  In  it  she  saw  nothing  ven- 
erable, nothing  wise,  no  experience  of  life,  no 
kindliness — nothing  save  the  departure  of  youth 
and  therefore  an  evil.  But  before  the  picture 
of  a  young  shepherd  with  red  lips  and  a  distant 

246 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

look  in  his  eyes  she  halted  for  a  long  time  and 
mused.  The  work  was  of  trifling  merit,  but  the 
lips  were  red  and  so  were  the  lips  of  "  Cousin 
George."  Upon  coming  out  of  the  Art  Palace 
Olive  said  that  she  desired  to  telephone  to  her 
husband,  but  not  from  the  Fair — from  a  drug 
store  near  my  home,  as  if  that  could  make  any 
difference.  So  when  we  had  passed  out  of  the 
grounds  she  telephoned  that  she  was  at  my  house 
and  would  return  to  the  hotel  early  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  My  aunt  was  glad  to  see  her, 
as  she  was  the  wife  of  a  rich  man,  and  still  she 
regarded  her  with  a  regret  as  if  she  had  wan- 
tonly stolen  that  which  by  right  had  belonged 
to  me. 

Immediately  after  dinner  Olive  became  rest- 
less and  it  was  not  long  before  she  declared  that 
she  had  repented  of  the  way  in  which  she  had 
parted  from  her  husband,  and  must  therefore 
go  home  at  once.  "  I  should  like  so  much  to  stay 
all  night  with  you,"  she  said,  "  but  if  I  do  I'll 
never  hear. the  last  of  it.  Oh,  you  don't  know 
what  a  mean  memory  he  has  for  little  things." 

We  were  sitting  in  my  room.  There  was  no 
one  to  overhear  what  I  might  say  to  her.  And 

247 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  spoke  freely  what  was  in  my  mind.    "  Olive," 
said  I,  "  you  had  no  intention  of  staying  with 


me." 


"  What,  do  you  think  I'm  so  changeable  ?" 

"  No,  I  haven't  accused  you  of  being  change- 
able. I  said  you  had  no  intention  of  staying 
with  me.  You  are  going  to  meet  Charley." 

"Why  Gypsy!" 

"  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  you  said  you  were  com- 
ing to  stay  all  night  with  me.  But  suppose  Mr. 
Pague  should  come  down  here  tonight.  What 
could  I  tell  him?" 

"  But  he  won't  come  away  down  here,"  she 
cried,  stamping  her  foot.  "  What  makes  you 
say  such  unpleasant  things?  What  right  has  he 
got  to  come?  Haven't  I  told  him  I'd  be  home 
early  tomorrow  morning  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  beginning  not  to  believe  you." 

"  Now  what  put  that  into  your  head  ?  He 
does  believe  me.  I'm  sure  he  has  no  cause  to 
disbelieve  me — so  far  as  he  knows.  Yes,  I  am 
going  to  meet  Charley.  I  am  dying  to  see  him. 
I  have  passed  two  days  of  absolute  torture.  Why 
shouldn't  I  meet  him  now — now  that  we  have 
— gone  as  far  as  we  have?" 

248 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  Olive,  you  place  me  in  such  a  position." 

"  Such  a  position !  By  making  you  my  con- 
fidante? Gypsy,  I  never  expected  to  be  scolded 
for  having  faith  in  you." 

She  pouted;  she  picked  at  the  feather  in  her 
hat.  She  threw  the  hat  upon  the  bed,  went  to 
the  window  and  "  tra-lard  "  an  idle  tune ;  she 
said  that  she  wouldn't  go;  she  sat  down,  and 
sighing,  folded  her  hands  helplessly.  Then  she 
arose  and  put  on  her  hat.  "  Yes,  I  must  go," 
she  said.  "  And  if  Mr.  Pague  should  have  the 
— ingratitude  to  come  and  inquire  for  me,  tell 
him — what  you  please.  I  shall  leave  that  to 
your  invention." 

She  was  now  standing  before  the  mirror, 
adjusting  her  hat.  "  Puritan,  do  you  think  I've 
fallen  very  low  ?  Ah,"  she  laughed,  "  you 
would  like  to  think  so,  but  you  can't."  She 
posed.  No  matter  how  many  lives  we  may  be 
promised,  we  are  assured  of  but  one  on  this 
earth.  After  this  one,  the  purifying  process  be- 
gins. Until  we  are  pure,  why  pretend  to  be? 
But  what  is  purity?  Tell  me  what  it  is?" 

"  I  don't  know.    From  your  point  of  view,  it 

249 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

is  doing  what  you  choose.  From  mine — I  don't 
know." 

"No?"  she  laughed.  "You  don't  want  to 
know.  Once  you  ran  away  from  an — aversion, 
let  us  call  it.  And  a  woman  brave  enough  to 
run  from  that,  will,  if  tempted,  run — to  her 
tempter.  But  who  was  my  tempter?  My  tem- 
perament, my  nature.  Who  could  have  changed 
the  course  of  my  nature  ?  My  parents ;  but  they 
didn't.  They  wanted  me  to  be  cold,  but  wanted 
that  coldness  to  crystallize  into  a  love  for  money. 
I  did  as  they  wanted  me  to.  Well,  good-by.  I 
may  not  see  you  again  for  a  long  time." 

She  started  toward  the  door,  looking  back  at 
me.  I  did  not  follow  her.  She  ran  back  to  me, 
embraced  me  and  tripped  lightly  down  the  stairs. 
Shortly  afterward  my  aunt  came  up.  "  Why,  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  stay  all  night  with 
you,"  she  said. 

"  She  intended  to,  but  has  been  stricken  with 
remorse — to  think  of  leaving  her  husband  so 
long  alone." 

"  Ah,  and  still  you  think  a  young  girl  can't 
care  for  an  old  man.  You  can  learn  much  from 
Olive,  my  dear." 

250 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Yes,  I  have  learned  much  from  her." 

"  Let  us  hope,  then,  that  you  may  profit  by 
it." 

"  Yes,  we  may  hope  so,  but  whether  I  shall  or 
not  remains  for  the  future  to  determine." 

Shortly  after  dinner,  while  some  of  the  board- 
ers were  singing  in  the  parlor,  Edward  came. 
There  was  no  other  place,  so  I  took  him  into  the 
general  reception  room  where  men  smoked  and 
women  talked  Bohemianism,  maccaroni  suppers 
and  steins  of  beer.  I  introduced  him  and  I 
fancied  that  I  could  see  their  names  floating  out 
of  his  mind.  He  was  restless.  He  sighed  as  he 
sat  on  the  sofa.  He  asked  me  to  take  a  walk 
with  him.  I  replied  that  I  could  not,  that  my 
aunt  was  expecting  visitors  and  that  I  had  prom- 
ised her  to  remain.  After  a  time  the  board- 
ers went  out,  leaving  us  alone.  Instantly  he 
seemed  as  if  a  rush  of  words  had  shaken  him 
with  their  torrent,  but  he  looked  down  again, 
without  speaking.  "  You  were  going  to  say 
something,"  said  I,  regretting  that  I  had  been 
untruthful. 

"  Yes.  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  was  greatly 
shocked  today.  I  said  nothing  until  noon,  watch- 

251 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ing  the  door;  and  then  I  went  into  Nevum's 
room.  He  was  alone,  walking  up  and  down.  His 
letters  had  not  been  opened.  I  asked  him  if  you 
were  ill.  He  answered  that  you  were  well,  so 
far  as  he  knew.  Then  I  boldly  inquired  why 
you  had  not  come.  He  said  that  you  had  de- 
cided not  to  come  again.  That  was  all  he  would 
say.  Now  you  tell  me,  please." 

I  told  him  as  much  as  I  thought  he  ought  to 
know,  made  frankness  a  virtue,  spoke  of  the 
theatre  and  the  ride  home — of  the  proposal. 
"  Tell  me  exactly  what  you  said  to  him,"  Ed- 
ward insisted.  "  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  I  want 
to  know — want  to  be  made  to  feel  that  you 
left  him  no  hope  whatever.  I  beg  your  pardon 
if  I  seem  too  much  interested.  But  you  know — 
my  heart." 

I  did  know  it  and  it  was  of  no  use  to  pre- 
tend that  I  didn't.  "  My  refusal  could  have  but 
one  meaning — the  manner  of  it,"  said  I.  "  He 
knows  that  I  shall  never  marry  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ejiward,  leaning  over,  with  his 

f- 

head  in  his  hands,  "  but  you  ought  to  have  made 
it  stronger.  You  don't  know  how  dearly  he  loves 
an  argument,  how  unwilling  he  is  to  quit — how 

252 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

resourceful  he  is.   He  will  come  out  here.   Prom- 
ise me  you  won't  see  him." 

"How  can  I  promise  such  a  thing?  Why 
should  I  promise  it  ?  I  don't  care  to  see  him ;  you 
know  that.  But  even  if  he  should  come  a  thou- 
sand times  and  plead  on  his  knees,  it  would  make 
no  difference.  He  hasn't  money  enough  to  buy 
me." 

"  To  buy  you !  Good  Lord,  don't  intimate 
that  any  one  has  that  much  money — that  any 
amount  of  money  could  influence  you." 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud,"  I  cautioned.  "  Some  one 
might  hear." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  My  words  come  with  a 
roar,  and  it's  all  I  can  do  to  soften  them.  Sit 
over  here  and  I  won't  have  to  talk  so  loud." 

I  moved  nearer  to  him.  His  face  was  flushed 
as  if  with  fever  and  his  eyes  glowed  like  lamps 
with  darkened  shades.  He  was  thrillingly  hand- 
some, all  animation,  his  gestures  bearing  the 
unconscious  grace  of  tragedy — the  stroke  that 
must  stab  an  enemy  or  one's  self.  Sometimes  a 
word  would  seem  to  be  drawn  out  with  a  quick 
flash,  like  a  short  Roman  sword;  and  with  one 
of  his  sudden  motions  he  would  seem  to  fall  upon 

253 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

it.  Sometimes  I  watched  him  without  hearing 
what  he  said.  But  more  than  once,  now  that  I 
was  even  nearer  him,  I  cautioned  him  not  to  ut- 
ter his  words  with  such  force.  "  It  is  despair," 
he  said;  and  at  this  moment  his  tragedy  caught 
the  gleam  of  a  humorous  light  that  fell  from 
somewhere  and  I  could  not  repress  a  smile. 
"  How  can  you  laugh  at  such  a  time,"  he 
groaned. 

"  Because  there  is  nothing  to  be  so  very  se- 
rious about,"  I  replied.  "  You  talk  as  if  some 
great  crime  had  been  committed.  He  pleaded 
with  me  to  marry  him.  Does  that  call  for  such 
— agony  ?" 

"  You  may  well  call  it  agony.  It  is  agony  to 
me.  And  the  agony  comes  out  of  my  own  weak- 
ness— or  rather  my  helplessness.  You  won't 
promise  me  anything,  and  I  haven't  the  moral 
or  the  intellectual  strength  to  compel  you.  It 
is  true  that  we  haven't  known  each  other  many 
days,  but  sometimes  the  heart  is  a  Joshua  that 
commands  the  sun  to  stand  still.  And  so,  be- 
tween the  morning  and  the  night,  an  eternity 
might  endure.  I  have  employed  no  insinuations. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  hide  from  you  a  great 

254 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

truth — the  truth  that  comes  but  once  into  the  life 
of  a  sincere  man.  You  know  that  I  not  only  love 
you — you  know  that  I  worship  you — that  for  one 
word  I  could  fall  upon  my  knees  at  your  feet  and 
die  there,  of  happiness." 

Now  I  was  standing  with  my  hands  on  the 
back  of  a  chair.  His  words  frightened  me.  I 
had  expected  something,  a  torrent  of  some  sort, 
but  these  words,  spoken  in  torture,  brought  me 
to  my  feet.  I  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  run 
away — out  into  the  night,  over  by  the  shore  of 
the  lisping  lake.  My  heart  beat  wildly;  it  was 
happy — but  my  mind  rebelled. 

"  Now  you  know,"  he  said.  "  I  might  talk 
always  and  I  could  tell  you  no  more.  But  there 
is  something  you  must  tell  me.  No,  don't  draw 
back  from  me.  I  won't  touch  you — I  swear  I 
won't — but  you  must  speak  a  word  to  give  me 
hope.  Poor — I  told  you  how  poor  I  was;  and  I 
am  poorer  now  than  when  I  told  you,  but  I  am 
strong  and — yes,  I  am  brave.  I  can  face  any- 
thing. With  you — you  as  my  wife,  hardships 
would  be  only  as  victories  soon  to  be  achieved. 
Say  that  you  love  me — that  you  will  be  my  wife, 
and  the  word  hardship  will  die  echoeless,  and  in 

255 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

its  place,  in  the  dictionary,  there  will  be  a  drop 
of  blood — my  heart's  blood — to  remain  ever  fresh 
— always  red.  One  word." 

"I  think  I  hear  my  aunt  coming,"  said  I.  And 
so  she  was.  She  came  into  the  room,  gave  him 
a  frigid  bow  and  sat  down.  He  began  to  feel 
about  as  if  for  his  hat.  I  wonder  why  a  man 
seems  to  feel  so  much  safer  when  he  has  his  hat 
in  his  hand. 

"Did  you  bring  a  note  from  Mr.  Nevum?" 
my  aunt  inquired,  clearing  her  throat. 

"  Er — no,  Madam.  I  haven't  seen  him  since 
about  noon  time." 

"  I  didn't  know  but  he  had  sent  out  the  little 
balance  due  my  niece." 

"  No  Madam,  he  sent  nothing  by  me." 

"  Has  my  neice  informed  you  that  she  has  se- 
cured a  much  better  place?" 

"  No,  Madam,  but  I  think  she  was  on  the  point 
of  telling  me  when  you  came  in." 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  am  very  glad  she  has  made 
the  change.  I  don't  think  Nevum's  office  afforded 
the  proper  scope  for  her  abilities.  Gypsy,  you 
needn't  laugh.  I  am  sure  of  it — have  known 
it  from  the  first.  Now  in  real  estate — " 

256 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  broke  in  with  an  attempted  pleasantry.  I 
said  that  I  might  be  on  more  rising  ground.  Ed- 
ward smiled  faintly,  but  my  aunt  compressed 
her  lips.  "  Better  ground  at  any  rate,"  she  said. 
Then  she  inquired  of  Edward  whether  he  ex- 
pected to  make  his  home  in  Chicago.  "  It  is  my 
intention  to  enter  upon  the  practice  of  the  law 
here,"  he  answered.  She  cleared  her  throat. 
Edward  felt  about  as  if  again  he  were  search- 
ing for  his  hat.  I  knew  that  he  was  in  agony, 
but  I  could  say  nothing,  do  nothing  to  help  him. 
Muttering  that  he  did  not  know  it  was  so  late  he 
arose  and  said  that  he  must  go.  No  one  had  said 
that  it  was  late.  The  time  had  not  been  men- 
tioned. But  the  appearance  of  my  aunt,  cold 
and  with  her  mouth  drawn,  was  quite  enough  to 
produce  any  sort  of  illusion.  I  wanted  to  say 
something  to  him,  not  the  word  he  had  sworn 
would  make  him  strong  enough  to  fight  against 
the  world  and  fate  combined,  but  some  little 
word  to  encourage  him,  to  send  him  away  half 
happy  at  least;  but  my  aunt  went  to  the  door 
with  us.  There  was  no  chance.  But  he  took 
my  hand  as  if  in  a  friendly  good  night  shake, 
and  I  suffered  him  to  hold  it  until  my  aunt  turned 

257 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

upon  him  with  a  clearing  of  her  throat;  and 
then  in  submission  and  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  took 
his  leave.  My  aunt  closed  the  front  door,  locked 
it,  bolted  it  as  if  now  there  were  need  of  double 
security,  and  then  bade  me  come  into  the  par- 
lor. I  obeyed  her,  and  when  she  had  sat  down 
and  smoothed  herself  out,  she  said :  "  And  that 
is  the  sort  of  thing  you  would  marry.  I  tell  you 
he'll  starve  to  death  within  a  year  after  he's  mar- 
ried. Both  nature  and  circumstances  have  ren- 
dered it  almost  impossible  for  such  a  man  to  live. 
Don't  stand  there  now  and  tell  me  he  loves  you. 
Any  body  can  see  that.  But  don't  you  dare 
to  say  that  you  love  him.  Well  may  he  have 
hunger  in  his  eyes.  He'll  have  it  all  over  him  be- 
fore he  is  done  with  it.  Now  don't  go  away."  I  had 
moved  toward  the  door.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
— and  for  your  good." 

It  is  always  disagreeable  when  a  relative  talks 
to  us  for  our  good,  and  in  my  countenance  she 
must  have  read  my  impatience.  "  Ah,  is  it  such 
a  hardship  to  listen  for  a  few  moments  ?" 

I.  told  her  no,  that  it  was  a  pleasure.  She 
didn't  clear  her  throat  at  me,  but  she  looked  and 
in  her  look  I  saw  that  she  knew  to  what  de- 

258 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

gree  I  had  been  untruthful.  "  I  believe  that  some 
time  ago  I  told  you  that  I  stood  in  the  place  of 
your  mother/'  she  said.  "  But  I  am  going  to 
stand  in  a  manner  a  little  more  determined  than 
she  stood.  You  are  simply  not  going  to  marry 
that — office  boy." 

"  You  are  not  better  apprised  of  that  fact  than 
I  am,  aunt.  I  have  never  thought  that  I  should 
marry  him.  I  never  mused  over  the  possibility 
of  it." 

"  Gypsy,"  she  said,  arising  and  coming  toward 
me  with  affection  beaming  forth  from  her  coun- 
tenance, "  you  are  a  good  child ;  and  you  will 
be  a  comfort  to  your  mother  and  to  me.  Good 
night." 


259 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WOULD  KEEP  HIS  WORD. 

Early  on  the  following  day  I  was  assigned  to 
work  in  the  real  estate  office.  And  what  a 
change.  In  the  former  place  my  work  had  been 
to  depress,  but  here  it  was  to  exalt.  It  was 
like  turning  from  lugubrious  prose  to  intoxicat- 
ing lyricism.  The  company  for  whom  I  had  en- 
gaged to  work  was  enlisted  in  the  inflated  en- 
deavor to  build  a  suburban  town.  Every  lot  was 
a  miniature  Paradise.  Every  building  was  a 
palace.  The  streets  were  speedways  for  the 
chariots  of  the  gods.  To  the  wondrous  advan- 
tages of  this  world  my  eyes  were  opened  anew. 

My  "  boss,"  Mr.  Roland,  was  lean,  wrinkled, 
bald,  good-toothed,  undertakerish  in  dress  and 
bearing,  but  his  smile  was  a  capitalistic  sunrise. 
And  it  was  when  this  smile  was  in  the  full  splen- 
dor of  its  glow  that  he  dictated  his  letters.  I 
don't  know  how  long  it  took  him  to  learn  my 
name.  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  did.  When 

260 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

spoken  to  I  was  always  Miss — Ah — ;  and  when 
spoken  of  I  was  "  our  young  lady."  I  heard 
one  of  the  girls  ask  a  co-laborer  if  the  "  squeeze  " 
had  arrived.  I  soon  learned  that  she  meant  the 
main  boss,  the  dignified  head  of  the  entire  estab- 
lishment. He  was  rarely  seen  except  as  he 
chanced  to  pass  through  the  low  plain  of  the  gen- 
eral office.  To  be  summoned  before  him  was  an 
event  in  history. 

In  so  far  as  was  possible,  I  withdrew  my  mind 
from  everything  else  and  centered  it  upon  my 
work,  soon  discovering  that  my  education  and 
my  reading,  such  as  they  were,  contributed  in 
no  meager  way  to  my  advantage.  Once,  about 
the  fifth  day,  when  I  had  completed  a  long  piece 
of  typewriting,  almost  a  pamphlet,  Mr.  Roland 
complimented  me.  His  interest  in  me  was  stim- 
ulated to  the  extent  that  he  inquired  as  to  my 
name.  I  told  him;  and  when,  two  days  later 
I  had  acquitted  myself  with  credit,  he  again  in- 
quired my  name.  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if 
he  were  about  to  include  my  address,  but  as  this 
would  have  been  in  the  nature  of  unwarranted 
flattery,  he  desisted. 

A  week  passed  and  I  saw  nothing  of  Edward, 

261 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

but  I  heard  from  him,  three  letters,  all  about  the 
same,  wild  out-pourings  of  his  love.  My  aunt 
had  not  given  to  him  the  opportunity  to  ask  me 
for  the  number  of  my  present  place  of  occupa- 
tion. He  had  spent  the  most  of  the  noon  hour 
in  a  chance  hunt  for  it,  going  into  numerous 
buildings,  but  had  not  been  rewarded.  He 
knew,  he  admitted,  that  it  would  be  embarrassing 
to  me  to  call  during  business  hours,  but  such  was 
not  his  intention.  He  desired  simply  to  know 
where  I  was,  so  that  he  might  watch  for  me 
some  evening  as  I  came  from  my  duties.  "  I  can 
see,  or  at  least  I  strongly  suspect,  that  your  aunt 
doesn't  like  me,"  he  said.  "  Therefore  it  is  not 
well  that  I  should  trouble  her  house  with  my 
presence.  But  she  has  miscalculated  my  nature 
if  she  thinks  that  I  am  going  to  give  you  up. 
If  some  one  else  leads  you  to  the  altar,  I  will 
follow  and  protest  against  so  inhuman  a  cruelty. 
I  know  that  we  were  born  for  each  other,  and 
now  all  that  remains  is  for  me  to  convince  you 
of  this  truth.  Won't  you  please  come  over  to 
our  restaurant?  Surely  you  cannot  deny  me 
that  small  favor — I  mean  that  great  favor. 
Within  a  few  days  the  Fair  will  close  forever 

262 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

its  now  historic  gates.  Can  we  not  spend  an 
afternoon  there?  I  promise  to  behave  myself. 
I  will  so  conduct  myself  that  no  matter  what  I 
feel,  no  one  shall  know.  Do  me  this  great  kind- 
ness, please." 

It  was  not  only  a  kindness  to  him  but  a  pleas- 
ure in  store  for  myself,  so  I  appointed  a  Satur- 
day afternoon.  I  met  him  on  the  lake  shore, 
near  the  Iowa  building,  where  the  sobered  waves 
were  murmuring  low.  The  day  was  warmed  as 
if  with  a  reminiscence  of  summer.  Edward 
came  forward  with  an  autumn  leaf  in  his  hand. 
He  begged  me  to  wear  it  in  my  hair.  I  did  as 
he  bade  me.  My  silence  and  my  submission  to  his 
will  lighted  his  countenance  with  a  sad  smile. 
"  Let  us  walk  over  yonder  where  we  may  be 
silent — and  not  heard,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  as 
melancholy  as  a  sigh.  For  a  long  time  we  walked 
beneath  the  trees  and  amid  the  shrubbery  of  the 
Wooded  Island.  The  music  of  the  Fair  was 
dying.  That  great  strain  of  former  life  was  now 
more  like  a  wail.  On  a  bench  beneath  an  um- 
brella-shaped bush,  covered  with  vines,  we  sat 
down.  He  turned  about,  toward  me,  and  from 
his  eyes  poured  something  into  mine,  a  spirit,  a 

263 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

passion;  and  I  looked  down.  No  one  was  near, 
the  world  was  far  away,  and  he  took  my  hand. 
My  glove  was  half  off.  His  hand  was  hot  against 
my  palm;  but  it  was  a  joyous  heat,  a  throbbing 
life. 

"  God,  how  it  draws  the  pain  out  of  my  heart," 
he  said.  "  It  is  the  first  moment  of  ease  I  have 
had  since — oh,  I  don't  know  when !  I  didn't  know 
that  a  man  could  suffer  so  much  and  yet  con- 
tinue to  live.  Gypsy?" 

I  did  not  answer  him.  A  breeze  was  stir- 
ring and  above  our  heads  the  vines  murmured 
hoarsely.  A  dead  leaf  fluttered  at  my  feet.  A 
companionless  bird  flew  past,  and  homeless, 
perched  on  the  dead  branch  of  a  stunted  oak. 

"  Gypsy,  did  you  hear  what  I  said  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  heard  you." 

"  And  have  you  nothing  to  say  ?" 

"  Silence  says  all,  Edward." 

"  No,  it  does  not  say.all.  It  may  acknowledge 
much  but  can  never  say  enough.  I  have  told 
you  that  I  more  than  love  you,  that  I  worship 
you.  Without  you  there  would  be  no  universe. 
God  did  not  complete  His  work  with  Adam,  with 
Eve,  but  with  you.  Gypsy,  do  you  love  me?" 

264 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Don't  you  know  in  the  restaurant,  I  told  you 
I  did?" 

'  Then  ?  You  merely  acknowledged  that  you 
cared  for  me.  Merely  to  care  for  me — a  dew  drop 
in  the  parching  desert.  It  must  be  more  than 
that.  I  don't  want  you  merely  to  care  for  me. 
I  wouldn't  have  your  friendship.  I  want  your 
love — God,  if  I  could  have  your  agonizing  love. 
Nothing  else  can  satisfy  me.  Gypsy,  I  am  al- 
most mad." 

I  could  well  believe  it.  He  trembled  violently. 
His  eyes  blazed.  "  Don't  tell  me  that  I  must 
not  be  mad.  How  can  I  help  it  ?  They  say  that  love 
is  a  disease.  It  is.  It  is  a  death  by  poison.  Into 
my  soul  you  have  poured  a  poison — a  sweet  but 
deadly  poison.  Gypsy !" 

"  Don't,  please.  Some  one  will  see  us.  Re- 
member your  promise.  Don't  you  know,  you 
promised  to  behave  yourself.  You  must.  Don't 
attract  attention,  please." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  doing.  Half  the  time  now  I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  dreaming  or  awake.  Sometimes 
when  I  think  I'm  awake,  I'm  dreaming.  But 
tell  me — do  you  love  me?" 

265 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  If  you  won't  ask  me  anything  else  I  will  tell 
you."  ' 

"  I  will  promise.    Do  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  have  told  me.  But  is  it  that  you  just 
do  love  me?" 

"  You  promised  not  to  ask  anything  else." 

"  But  you  fill  my  mouth  with  sweets  and  tell 
me  not  to  swallow.  You  have  made  me  thirstier.  I 
want  to  feel  in  here —  in  my  heart  that  you  love 
me.  I  want  to  feel  that  you  would  be  miserable  if 
I  didn't  love  you.  Would  you  ?  Tell  me  that,  and 
I'll  swear  I  won't  ask  another  thing.  I  swear  it, 
in  the  presence  of  God." 

"  Yes,  I  should  be  miserable." 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?    Tell  me." 

"  There,  you  have  violated  your  oath.  Don't 
you  see,  I  can't  believe  a  word  you  say?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  But  you  would  seal  my 
lips.  You  would  bid  me  be  dumb." 

"  Let  us  talk  about  something  else." 

"  Something  else,"  he  repeated.  "  Is  there — 
can  there  be  anything  else?  But  I  will  keep  my 
word  with  you.  Yes,  if  like  a  fire  it  slowly  burns 
my  heart  to  ashes,  I  will  keep  my  word  with  you. 

266 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  will  show  you  that  for  you  I  can  do  anything. 
These  days  since  you  left — I  have  been  insane. 
Any  one  could  see  it.  Nevum  must  have  noticed 
it.  That  old  man  who  sits  out  there  near  my 
desk,  noticed  it — spoke  about  it.  He  said  that 
his  heart  had  been  broken  many  a  time.  Many 
a  time !  I  could  have  trod  him  beneath  my  feet. 
I  told  him  that  no  heart  could  be  broken  but  once. 
He  shook  his  head  and  replied,  many  a  time.  I 
replied  that  vanity  might  be  crushed  often,  but 
that  the  heart  had  only  one  life  and  could  suffer 
extreme  punishment  but  once.  I  don't  see  how 
I  could  have  lived  through  another  day.  I 
couldn't.  You  don't  know — can't  know.  And 
now,  can  there  be  poverty  in  the  face  of  such 
love?  So  encouraged  and  so  strengthened,  can't 
I  arise  to  achievement?  Nothing  can  hold  me 
to  the  ground.  Gypsy,  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Again  you  have  violated  your  oath.  I  don't 
believe  you  are  sincere.  How  can  I  ?  You  swear 
and  then  prove  yourself  false.  No,  you  don't 
love  me.  If  you  did,  you  would  keep  your  word 
— out  of  respect  for  me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  do  on  my  knees — or 
should  if  you'd  give  your  consent.  But  you  tie 

267 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

my  hands  with  a  silken  cord  and  when  I  flinch 
with  the  cutting  of  the  flesh,  you  censure  me.  It 
is  cruel,  yes;  but  perhaps  it  is  just.  For  what 
should  I  expect?  In  this  cold  age  such  warmth 
of  love  must  appear  unnatural.  But  why  ban- 
quet me  and  show  me  the  guillotine?  Tell  me 
one  thing  more  and —  " 

"  No,  nothing  more.  I  have  told  you  too  much 
already." 

He  sighed.  "  Yes,  it  was  all  a  dream.  I 
dreamed  you  said  you  loved  me.  Tell  me  it  wasn't 
a  dream.  Tell  me  this,  then — that  I  dreamed 
you  said  you  would  be  my  wife.  May  I  with  your 
permission  have  dreamed  that?" 

It  was  more  than  I  could  assimilate  and  I  had 
to  laugh.  He  reproached  me,  called  me  heart- 
less, but  after  a  time  he  insisted  that  I  should 
give  my  consent  to  his  dreaming  as  his  fancy 
might  lead  him. 

"  Yes,  you  may  dream  that  I  promised  you. 
But  that's  all." 

"  Yes,  all.  But  God,  what  a  relief  it  is  to 
dream.  The  world  is  a  dream — all  life  a  dream. 
But  may  I  awake  and  find  my  dream  true,  may 
I?" 

268 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  You  have  picked  your  oath  to  pieces  like  a 
thistle  down  and  have  blown  it  away  in  the  air. 
No,  I  will  tell  you  nothing  else.  You  already 
know  too  much." 

: ,  Again  he  begged  my  pardon.  He  said  that  he 
would  not  speak  another  word  that  might  dis- 
tress me.  But  after  a  few  moments  he  asked 
me  if  I  would  not  remain  on  the  Fair  grounds 
with  him  until  after  nightfall.  He  desired  the 
pleasure  of  walking  with  me  beneath  the  moon. 
I  told  him  that  there  was  no  moon.  This  was  a 
hazard  on  my  part.  I  didn't  know  whether  or 
not  there  was  a  moon. 

"  No  moon !  "  he  said,  and  I  thought  that  he 
had  entrapped  me,  but  soon  he  agreed  that  I  must 
be  right.  Of  late  he  had  noticed  neither  the  sun 
nor  the  moon.  For  him  there  had  not  been  even 
a  day,  but  all  was  a  night,  dark  and  full  of  dreams 
that  wrought  upon  his  soul.  "  Then  you  won't 
stay  until  after  nightfall." 

"  My  aunt  would  be  uneasy  about  me." 

"Is  she  of  so  much  consequence?  Is  your 
whole  life  to  be  devoted  to  her?  She  has  taken 
up  the  notion  that  it  is  a  virtue  to  oppose  me.  If 

269 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

it  is  family  that  she  means  I  think  I  can  satisfy 
her.  My  family  stands  above  reproach." 

"  Let  us  walk  about,"  I  said.    He  objected. 

"  Oh,  no,  let  us  remain  here.  Over  there  is 
the  vulgar  crowd.  Here  we  are  on — the  verge 
of  heaven.  Wait  a  moment."  I  had  arisen.  "  Sit 
down  just  for  a  moment  longer." 

"  No;  you  have  not  kept  your  word  with  me." 

"  Now  don't  torture  me.  Is  it  that  you  delight 
in  my  suffering  ?  How  can  you  have  the  heart  ?  " 

"  If  I  can't  believe  anything  you  say,  how  do 
I  know  you  are  suffering?  " 

"  Can't  you  believe  me  ?  I  wouldn't  tell  you 
a  falsehood  to  save  the  blood  of  my  heart.  I 
couldn't  be  untruthful  to  you.  Your  eyes  draw 
truth  from  me — like  the  sun  drawing  up  the 
dew." 

'  The  sun  dries  up  the  dew.  Do  my  eyes  dry 
up  the  truth?" 

"How  can  you  talk  that  way?  Wait,  I  will 
go  with  you." 

For  a  long  time  we  walked  among  the  "  ap- 
proaching "  ruins  of  the  great  exhibition.  And 
I  soon  discovered  that  it  was  his  study  and  his 
aim  to  draw  me  into  deserted  corners  where  he 

270 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

might  squeeze  my  hand.  To  myself  I  said  that 
I  loved  him ;  and  it  was  not  perhaps  to  my  credit 
when  I  reflected  that  I  should  doubtless  love  him 
more  were  he  less  devoted.  In  man's  indifference 
there  is  sometimes  a  show  of  strength,  and  even 
the  weakest  of  women  admire  strength.  I  have 
often  heard  it  said  that  a  woman  loves  from  the 
moment  when  she  finds  herself  loved.  Would  it 
not  be  true  also  to  say  that  a  woman  loves  less 
from  the  moment  she  finds  herself  worshiped?  * 

The  chill  of  evening  was  coming  on,  breathing 
down  out  of  the  silver  sky.  The  sun  was  set- 
ting. I  said  that  I  must  go  home.  He  begged 
for  the  privilege — the  honor  and  the  happiness, 
he  said,  of  accompanying  me  nearly  to  my  aunt's 
house,  but  this  I  was  compelled  to  deny  him. 

"  I  shall  go  to  my  wretched  room  to  dream/' 
he  said.  "  Ah,  but  you  have  promised  that  one 
of  my  dreams — the  dearest  of  them  all — may 
become  a  reality.  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  I  remember  many  things — some  of  which  I 
ought  to  forget,  perhaps.  But  your  dreams  are 
your  own.  I  cannot  forbid  them." 

"  Ah,  but  surely  you  wouldn't  break  your 
word.  No,  you  can't  do  that." 

271 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  That  right  you  reserve 
for  yourself." 

"  Don't  say  that.  I  would  die  rather  than  to 
break  my  word  with  you.  You  told  me  you  loved 
me.  Tell  me  you  still  love  me — that  I  have  said 
nothing  to  cause  you  to  hate  me." 

"  I  am  just  as  I  was,"  I  said. 

He  gave  me  a  grateful  look,  pressed  my  hand 
and  hastened  away.  And  I — I  went  home  with 
his  words  and  his  eyes  in  my  heart. 


272 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SHE  HAD  VERSES  IN  HER  EYES. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day — Sun- 
day, I  have  cause  to  remember — I  was  lying  in 
my  room  trying  to  read,  but  with  Edward's  im- 
passioned countenance  between  my  eyes  and  the 
book,  when  my  aunt  came  with  great  excitement 
to  inform  me  that  Bayless,  the  architect,  was  in 
the  parlor.  "  He  came  in  a  buggy  with  the  finest 
span  of  horses  you  ever  saw,"  she  said.  "  And 
I  know  they  must  belong  to  him  by  the  way  he 
treats  them,  and  I  think  he  wants  you  to  go  driv- 
ing with  him;  and  if  he  does,  don't  you  dare  to 
refuse.  Hurry  along  now,  and  get  ready." 

She  helped  me  to  dress,  talking  during  the 
time;  and  at  the  door  as  I  was  going  out  to  the 
stairs  she  kissed  me,  which  meant,  "  Capture  him 
if  you  can.  Remember  your  mother — and  me." 

Bayless  was  dressed  as  if  he  expected  to  pose 
as  a  spectacle  at  a  horse-show.  No  clothed  statue 
could  have  been  more  representative  of  grace.  I 

273 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

caught  the  gleam  of  a  diamond,  and  on  the  lapel 
of  his  coat  there  glowed  a  golden  chrysanthemum. 
He  bowed,  and  when  I  extended  my  hand,  he  did 
not  take  it,  but  with  his  fingers  nibbled  at  the 
tips  of  my  fingers.  Had  it  not  been  so  dignified 
it  would  have  been  laughable.  With  exquisite 
grace  he  sat  down,  knowing  every  moment  what 
to  do  with  his  hands,  his  feet,  himself.  His  ease 
was  a  study ;  his  little  animations,  coming  slowly, 
without  friction  and  going  the  same  way,  were 
like  the  gentle  ripples  of  a  pool,  breathed  upon 
by  gentle  breezes. 

"  I  was  going  to  remark,"  said  he,  "  that  I 
hoped  you  were  well.  But  we  never  hope  for 
that  of  which  we  are  already  assured.  I  see  that 
you  are  in  the  best  of  health." 

I  caught  sight  of  my  aunt  moving  about  noise- 
lessly in  the  hall.  In  her  countenance  I  read  as 
plainly  as  if  written,  the  words :  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  like?" 

I  replied  that  I  was  as  well  as  any  one  could 
be,  and  my  aunt  nodded  approvingly,  as  if  I  had 
uttered  a  thought  concerning  which  there  had 
been  some  doubt,  but  which  now  was  more  clear. 
So  satisfied  was  she  that  she  silently  withdrew, 

274 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

willing  to  leave  the  management  of  the  situation 
to  me.  As  I  looked  upon  this  cool  and  wholly 
self-possessed  man,  I  wondered  whether  he  could 
ever  have  so  deeply  loved  a  woman  as  to  tell 
her  as  Edward  had  told  me,  that  he  could  drop 
upon  his  knees  and  die  of  happiness  at  her  feet. 
I  smiled  to  think  of  it;  and  Bayless,  supposing 
that  I  was  smiling  over  a  remark  he  had  made, 
repeated  it,  the  idlest  of  fancies,  a  nothing;  but 
a  serious  man  thinks  that  his  nothings  are  humor- 
ous. He  said  that  the  day  had  been  glorious,  and 
then  softened  it  with  a  revision — that  it  had  been 
charming.  Glorious  was  too  rich  in  color.  I 
spoke  of  my  change  of  work.  He  raised  his  eye- 
brows, too  high  at  first  and  then  lowered  them  a 
trifle. 

"  It  was  no  doubt  well,"  he  said.  "  The  forg- 
ing of  duns  is  I  should  think  a  most  depressing 
occupation,"  he  went  on  to  say,  marking  off  his 
accents  slowly,  like  a  hall  clock.  "  And  you  are 
now  a  land  boomer.  Very  expressive  of  the  real 
estate  business,  I  am  persuaded.  My  friend 
Nevum  and  I  are  attracted  toward  each  other  for 
the  reason,  I  fancy,  that  in  temperament  we  are 
so  very  far  apart.  He  makes  business  as  serious 

275 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

as  possible,  while  I  touch  it  as  lightly  as  I  can — 
by  which  I  mean  that  I  do  not  permit  it  to  weigh 
heavily  upon  me." 

"  But  your  affairs/'  said  I,  "  are  more  related 
to  art  than  to  business." 

He  gave  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulder.  I  ac- 
cepted it  as  a  confidence  and  inclined  my  head. 

"  That  is  very  nearly  true,"  he  said.  "  Under- 
stand I  do  not  mean  that  you  utter  it,  believing 
it  to  be  true  only  in  part,  but  that  you  have  ut- 
tered a  fact  in  so  far  as  you  comprehend  the  situ- 
ation, or  rather  I  might  say,  the  conditions.  In 
a  way,  or  rather  to  some  degree,  my  work  is  art. 
But  even  art  is  necessarily  followed  by  a  commer- 
cial transaction.  It  must  have  its  recompense  or 
come  to  naught.  Ah,  I  have  brought  my  horses. 
Would  you  care  to  drive  ?  " 

I  thanked  him  and  ran  up  stairs  to  get  my 
wraps.  My  aunt  was  in  the  hall  above.  She 
seized  me  as  if  I  had  won  some  sort  of  victory. 
"  Perfectly  charming,"  she  whispered. 

It  was  a  delight  to  speed  behind  horses  "  that 
almost  disdained  the  ground."  Bayless  spoke  to 
them  as  gently  as  if  talking  to  a  child.  We  passed 

276 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

everything  in  Michigan  avenue  and  then  turned 
for  a  leisurely  drive  in  Washington  Park. 

"  Oh,"  said  my  companion,  "  you  doubtless  re- 
call that  I  spoke  to  you  of  a  picture — the  one  that 
resembles  you." 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  it  a  number  of  times." 

"  Ha,  you  have  honored  it  with  a  frame  set  in 
diamonds.  Ho,  boys." 

It  was  a  compliment  to  address  me  and  the 
horses  almost  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Yes,  the  picture,"  he  added.  "  I  have  thought 
more  of  it  since  I  discovered  the  resemblance." 

"  That  is  a  higher  compliment  than  I  could 
have  paid  it,"  said  I;  and  he  turned  his  eyes 
toward  me,  and  how  cool  they  were,  how  differ- 
ent from  Edward's  fire. 

"  Yes,  you  shall  see  it — sometime.  What  were 
you  doing  when  I  called  ?  It  must  have  been  that 
you  were  reading  poetry,  for  when  you  came 
down  there  were  verses  in  your  eyes." 

The  prettiness  of  this  speech,  the  softness  with 
which  it  was  uttered,  tingled  me — it  made  me 
catch  my  breath  as  we  do  when  swinging. 

"  I  had  been  trying  to  read  verses." 

"  Ah !  I  thought  so.     May  I  ask  whose  ?  " 

277 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Yes,  and  when  I  tell  you,  you  may  not  ap- 
prove. Byron's." 

"  Ah,  he  wrote  in  sunsets  and  punctuated  with 
the  stars.  Approve?  Not  for  some,  perhaps — 
but  for  you — well,  you  are  strong." 

"  But  I  don't  feel  strong  when  I  read  him. 
His  power  makes  me  weak.  I  like  to  feel  that  he 
has  conquered  me." 

He  spoke  to  his  horses.  He  whistled  inwardly. 
"  Byron  is  not  my  favorite  poet,"  said  he,  slowly, 
as  if  he  had  been  called  upon  to  pronounce  a 
judgment.  "  In  him  there  is  an  unquestioned 
splendor,  but  he  dazzles  too  much.  Ah,  let  me 
say  that  I  prefer  wine.  He  is  brandy." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  prefer  him — for 
quick  intoxication,"  I  replied;  and  again  he 
slightly  turned  his  eyes  toward  me. 

"  Very  good;  very." 

We  drove  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  The  gar- 
deners were  digging  up  the  roots  of  flowers  to 
store  them  away  from  the  coming  blasts  of  win- 
ter. The  birds  were  all  of  them  gone. 

"  I  have  schooled  myself,"  he  said ;  "  yes,  and 
yet  I  like  to  contemplate  an  unschooled  woman 
— one  who  gives  rein  to  her  prancing  emotions. 

278 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

It  is  picturesque.  Some  persons,  both  men  and 
women,  begin  to  school  their  temperaments  be- 
fore they  discover  that  they  have  any — any  of 
decided  characteristics.  It  is  well  to  permit  them 
to  reach  a  full  state  of  development  and  then  to 
begin  the  proper  restraint.  The  experience  is 
something  worth  and  the  victory  is  more  of  an 
achievement.  You  are  young.  I  am  entering 
the  forties.  But  I  shall  not  presume  to  tell  you 
what  poets  you  ought  to  read.  The  poet  we  read 
because  we  feel  constrained  to,  makes  no  impres- 
sion. Quickened  water  catches  more  of  the  dif- 
ferent hues  of  the  sky — flowing  emotions  seize 
upon  more  of  the  different  phases  of  life." 

He  was  not  wholly  clear,  but  he  seemed  to 
mean  what  he  said  and  I  was  pleased  to  listen 
to  him.  Was  it  his  reading  or  was  it  his  manner, 
coming  upon  him  unconsciously,  that  had  sub- 
dued him  into  a  moralist?  "Desiring  to  leave 
with  him  a  good  impression  I  could  not  be  frank. 
There  was  something  I  must  hide,  and  for  the 
first  time,  I  began  to  weigh  a  thought  before  ut- 
tering it.  I  desired  his  respect. 

"  I  haven't  said  that  Byron  is  my  favorite,"  I 
remarked.  "  There  are  greater  and  more  en- 

279 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

nobling  poets.  Byron  is  the  poet  of  moods — of 
rebellious  moods,  I  might  say." 

"  Rebellious  moods.  Then  were  you  a  rebel 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

I  had  not  been  a  rebel;  I  had  been  in  submis- 
sion, feeling  that  Edward  possessed  me  and  that 
I  had  not  striven  against  the  importunities  of  his 
passion.  But  to  Bayless  I  replied  that  I  had  been 
a  rebel,  that  I  was  in  rebellion  against  the  dis- 
criminations of  life. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  that  comes  with  every  new 
awakening  along  the  road  of  life.  The  greed  of 
one  generation  becomes  the  injustice  of  a  genera- 
tion that  must  follow.  It  is  with  ease  that  we 
find  the  faults  of  life,  but  it  were  the  task  of  a 
god  to  correct  them.  With  each  one  of  us  there 
lies  a  duty.  And  that  duty  is,  to  make  as  much 
as  possible  of — self.  And  I  must  say  something 
to  you  which  no  doubt  has  been  uttered  a  thou- 
sand times — that  you  are  fitted  to  adorn. 
Frankly — and  I  am  not  given  to  confidences — 
you  are  out  of  place  in  an  office.  They  tell  us 
that  work  is  ennobling.  Some  sorts  of  work  are 
ennobling — for  man.  But  for  woman — the 
home,  society.  I  may  go  further  and  say  that  I 

280 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

don't  believe  you  ought  to  be  the  wife  of  a  mere 
business  man." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  be  the  wife  of 
any  one." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  the  right  sort  of  a  man." 

When  a  man  speaks  thus  he  always  means  that 
he  is  the  right  sort.  "  You  owe  it  to  yourself  to 
develop  your  faculties,"  he  went  on.  "As  the 
wife  of  a  mere  business  man  this  opportunity 
would  not  be  afforded  you.  Such  an  aim  can  be 
attained  only  through  proper  companionship. 
You  should  marry  your  equal  intellectually." 

"  Or,  superior,"  I  said,  laughing. 

He  took  it  seriously.  "Well,  yes,  that  would 
be  better.  Some  one  to  develop  you." 

"  To  develop  me  toward  what?  " 

"  A  very  sensible  question.  Toward  the  com- 
pletion, I  might  say,  of  your  mind." 

"And  then  to  take  that  mind  into  society? 
It  would  there  be  companionless." 

"  Ha,  that  was  very  shrewdly  put.  And,  in  it 
there  is  more  than  a  basis  of  truth.  Still  it  de- 
volves upon  her  to  develop  her  mind."  He  wan- 
dered off  upon  his  travels  in  Europe,  spoke  of 
brilliant  women  whom  he  had  met,  of  Madam 

281 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Patti  and  her  castle  in  Wales.  And  I  listened, 
for  he  was  interesting — too  precise,  a  polite 
guide  book;  but  I  enjoyed  his  recital.  As  we 
were  nearing  my  aunt's  house  he  said :  "  I  have 
greatly  enjoyed  this  drive.  And  now  that  we  are 
so  well  acquainted,  you  might  look  for  me  almost 
at  any  time.  Would  such  an  understanding  be 
agreeable  to  you  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  I  answered.  When  he  had  helped 
me  out  I  invited  him  to  take  dinner  with  us,  but 
with  one  of  his  model  bows  he  thanked  me  and 
declined. 


282 


CHAPTER  XXL 

SUCH   AN  OPPORTUNITY. 

Dinner  was  ready  but  my  aunt  delayed  the 
meal ;  and  drawing  me  into  her  room  she  insisted 
upon  my  going  over  all  that  had  been  said  during 
the  drive.  She  was  delighted.  "  Not  in  my  rec- 
ollection has  there  been  so  fine  an  opportunity 
opened  for  a  'girl — of  modest  pretentions,"  she 
said.  "  I  must  write  to  your  mother  this  very 
night.  Oh,  I  just  know  he  is — what  do  you  call 
it?  A  paragon  among  men?  He  can't  help  but 
be.  My,  such  manners.  He  seems  to  have  come 
out  of  a  different  world  from  ours.  And  how 
thoughtful  of  you  not  to  have  married  that 
Pague.  Why,  there's  no  comparison — none 
whatever." 

"  But  aunt,  he  hasn't  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

She  looked  as  if  I  had  offended  her.    "  There 

you  go,"  she  said,  "  jumping  at  conclusions."    It 

did  not  occur  to  her  that  she  herself  had  made 

the  leap.    "Hasn't  asked  you  to  marry  him — no, 

283 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

but  he  will.  Didn't  he  bring  his  best  horses,  the 
very  flower  of  his  stable  ?  Didn't  he  tell  you  how 
fitted  you  were  to  adorn  a  home?  Such  men 
aren't  idle,  my  dear.  They  know  the  value  of 
words  and  don't  waste  them.  Compare  him  with 
that  fumbler — that  What's-his-name.  You  can't, 
that's  all.  Coal  bills !  I  warrant  you  he's  never 
compelled  to  think  about  them.  And  winter  com- 
ing on,  too." 

Poor  woman.  Coal  bills  were  the  distresses  of 
her  life.  The  winter  was  one  long  torture.  The 
first  snow  flake  was  a  summon  to  shiver  and  to 
dread. 

"  But  tell  me  this,"  she  said,  taking  my  cheeks 
between  her  hard  hands  and  gazing  into  my  eyes. 
"  Tell  me  that  if  he,  or  rather  when  he  does  ask 
you  to  be  his  wife — that  you  will  not  wound  his 
great  heart  by  even  appearing  to  refuse  the 
honor.  Tell  me  that  you  will  marry  him.  Tell 
me  that  and  I  shall  be  happy." 

"  But  I  can't  tell  what  I  may  say.  He  shall 
know  that  I  appreciate  the  honor,  but  I  can't — I 
can't  hear  his  words,  I  can't  see  him.  Wait." 

"  Then  I  must  leave  it  all  with  you." 

She  withdrew,  not  satisfied  but,  with  hope  in 

284 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

her  eyes.  And  that  night,  unable  to  sleep,  I 
strove  to  picture  this  coming  event,  to  hear  his 
words  and  my  answer;  but  Edward's  pleading 
rang  like  wild  music  in  my  ears,  and  in  the  dark 
I  could  see  his  countenance  aflame  with  love. 

Next  day  I  was  honored.  Shortly  after  enter- 
ing the  office  Mr.  Roland  said  to  me :  "  Our 
manager  is  going  to  St.  Louis  to  investigate  and 
report  upon  the  condition  of  our  branch  interests 
in  that  city.  He  will  in  addition  to  his  private 
secretary  take  with  him  a  young  woman  type- 
writer. You  have  been  selected.  You  will  doubt- 
less be  gone  a  week." 

He  did  not  inquire  as  to  whether  or  not  I 
should  like  to  go.  But  I  was  not  unwilling  and 
I  bowed,  with  so  exact  an  imitation  of  him  that 
had  he  not  been  blinded  by  business  dignity  he 
could  have  seen  it.  Shortly  afterward  the  great 
man,  our  manager,  sent  for  me.  As  I  was  going 
into  his  room,  several  of  the  girls  looked  up  with 
envy  in  their  eyes.  The  manager  did  not  explain. 
He  commanded.  I  was  to  be  ready  within  two 
hours.  So  I  hastened  home  to  prepare  for  the 
journey.  My  aunt  was  much  excited.  "  It  shows 
that  you  are  preferred  above  all  of  the  others," 

285 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

she  said.  "  And  you  are  to  go  with  the  man- 
ager! Don't  lose  sight  of  that  fact,  my  dear. 
He  is  unquestionably  a  man  of  great  affairs.  Do 
you  know  whether  or  not  he  is  a  widower?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  him.  His  gruff- 
ness  would  argue  that  his  wife  is  living." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  talk  that  way.  Men  of  af- 
fairs can't  smile  always,  you  know.  Why,  that's 
one  of  the  biggest  land  companies  in  the  world, 
and  I  warrant  you  the  president  of  the  United 
States  doesn't  get  any  bigger  salary.  Well,  now, 
get  ready  as  quickly  as  you  can — and  be  just  as 
nice  to  him  as  possible." 

"  I'll  do  my  work  as  well  as  I  can." 

"  Yes,  but  don't  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  he 
is  the  manager.  Such  opportunities  as  are  com- 
ing your  way,  I  declare!  Well,  they  come  and 
they  go,  remember  that." 

I  was  gone  more  than  a  week.  The  work  was 
hard.  The  manager  was  gruff  and  exacting. 
Sometimes  his  words  seemed  to  be  rheumatic. 
He  had  no  sentiment  that  could  not  be  footed  up 
and  set  down  in  figures.  To  him  I  did  not  speak 
an  unnecessary  word.  Except  by  my  work  he 
had  no  means  of  discovering  whether  I  had  any 

286 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sense.  I  am  sure  that  aside  from  my  duties  he 
did  not  care.  As  we  were  returning,  and  just 
before  we  left  the  train,  he  came  to  me  and  said : 
"  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your  efficiency.  You 
have  done  well." 

His  secretary,  an  old  maid,  a  relation  raked 
out  of  the  autumn  woods  of  some  far  distant 
territory,  caught  her  breath.  When  he  had 
passed  on  down  the  aisle  she  said:  "My,  it's 
the  first  time  I  ever  knew  him  to  flatter  any  one. 
You  must  feel  quite  proud." 

As  soon  as  I  had  entered  the  door  at  home  my 
aunt  rushed  upon  me  with  the  question :  "  What 
did  he  say?  " 

I  told  her.  "  But  you  don't  mean  that  he  said 
nothing  more." 

"  All  he  said  except  on  business." 

"  Didn't  he  express  an  opinion  on  any  sub- 
ject?" 

"  Except  as  to  the  matter  that  called  him  there 
he  was  deaf,  dumb  and  blind." 

"  But  his  wife  ?  Did  you  find  out  anything 
about  her  ?  " 

"  I  learned  nothing  whatever  about  his  family 
— and  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  it,  I  don't  care 

287 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

to  know.  I  would  rather  walk  to  the  altar  with 
the  multiplication  table." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  I'll  find  out.  There  are 
several  letters  up  stairs  for  you." 

The  first  letter  I  took  up  was  from  mother. 
My  aunt  had  written  to  her  and  she  was  now 
congratulating  me  upon  a  "  chance  which  should 
not  be  viewed  lightly."  She  said  that  to  throw 
myself  away  would  be  the  most  shameless  of  in- 
gratitude. "After  all  we  have  done  for  you," 
she  went  on.  "  If  so  much  money  had  not  been 
expended  on  your  education  I  might  now  be  liv- 
ing in  comfort,  but  I  felt  that  my  first  duty  was 
to  you,  and  it  remains  for  you  to  prove  whether 
or  not  I  was  wrong.  If  that  great  man  should 
ask  you  to  marry  him  and  you  decline  the  honor, 
it  will  break  my  heart.  Let  me  again  say  that 
no  matter  how  much  you  love  a  poor  man  you 
cannot  afford  to  marry  him.  Love  is  an  illusion. 
Remember  that.  It  cannot  last  long.  On  this 
earth  there  is  no  greater  sham  than  what  is 
known  as  home  life.  It  is  said  that  the  American 
home  is  the  most  miserable  of  all  homes;  and 
Americans  more  than  any  other  people  marry  for 
what  they  foolishly  regard  as  love.  Ask  any 

288 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

woman  who  married  for  love  and  she  will,  if  she 
tells  the  truth,  admit  the  shallowness  of  it  all. 
Marry  that  man  and  model  yourself  to  suit  him. 
This  is  the  wife's  duty.  They  may  talk  about 
her  independence  and  rights,  but  she  has  none. 
But  she  has  a  duty  which  she  owes  to  herself 
and  that  is  to  be  taken  care  of.  Remember  this 
— to  be  cared  for  and  supported.  What  could 
prompt  this  letter  except  the  deepest  love  for 
you  ?  Yes,  you  have  another  duty  and  it  is  this — 
not  to  break  my  heart." 

There  were  three  other  letters,  all  from  Ed- 
ward. They  read  as  if  they  might  have  been 
written  in  an  asylum  where  love-maniacs  are  con- 
fined. But  in  their  very  wildness  they  were  sweet 
and  delicious — strawberries  that  grow  along  the 
margin  of  the  hill-side  rivulet.  "  Night  after 
night  have  I  stood  in  the  street,  gazing  at  your 
house,"  he  said  in  one  of  his  outbursts.  "  I  did 
not  know  your  window  but  I  knew  the  walls  and 
I  worshipped  them.  Once  I  thought  to  set  the 
place  afire,  that  I  might  save  you — that  I  might 
press  you  to  this  bursting  heart  and  then  perish 
in  the  flames.  The  countenance  of  your  aunt, 
the  time  when  she  followed  us  into  the  hall,  afraid 

289 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  we  might  look  a  good  night  into  each  other's 
eyes,  proved  to  me  that  she  was  my  enemy;  and 
knowing  this,  I  would  not  embarrass  you  by 
knocking  at  the  door.  But  I  ask  you,  Universe, 
Heaven,  if  you  are  going  to  permit  her  to  destroy 
two  lives.  Remember,  you  told  me  that  if  you 
thought  that  I  did  not  love  you  it  would  mean 
misery  for  you.  Are  you  going  to  permit  this? 
I  know  that  it  is  only  my  poverty  that  gives  her 
cause  to  dislike  me.  But  do  we  not  set  our  love, 
inspired  as  it  is,  above  all  money?  If  money 
brought  happiness  the  richest  people  would  be  the 
happiest.  If  wealth  nourished  love,  then  there 
would  be  no  divorces  among  the  rich.  But  the 
most  miserable  man  in  the  world,  the  most 
wretched  woman  in  the  world,  is  the  man  or 
woman  with  a  disease  beyond  the  reach  of  money 
— the  disease  of  the  soul.  If  you  do  not  marry 
me,  you  blast  my  life  and  curse  your  own.  This, 
in  letters  of  blood,  is  written  in  the  book  of  fate. 
Write  to  me.  Send  me  the  one  word — Love. 
That  one  word  alone  is  the  message  that  God 
would  flash  forth  to  the  universe.  It  is  the  word 
of  all  life.  Send  it  me  that  I  may  live." 

The  next  letter,  taken  up  not  following  time 

290 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

or  date,  but  just  as  it  came  to  hand,  contained 
these  words :  "  You  continue  to  be  silent.  In 
the  night  my  heart  moans,  and  when  the  sun 
arises  it  has  not  turned  from  its  grief.  The  feet 
of  time  have  been  shod  in  lead  and  heavily  they 
drag  along.  But  why  should  I  wish  for  time  to 
speed,  since  one  day  is  as  the  dreary  one  that 
went  and  halted  and  died  before?  There  is  no 
time.  All  is  stagnation." 

Then,  another :  "I  have  found  out  where  you 
work  and  I  learned  with  some  little  relief  that 
you  were  out  of  town.  Relief?  Yes,  for  it 
showed  that  you  had  not  been  neglectful  of  my 
letters.  But  why,  no  matter  where  you  are, 
haven't  you  written  to  me?  Didn't  your  soul  tell 
you  that  I  must  have  written  and  that  I  was 
suffering  for  a  word?  As  soon  as  you  have  read 
this,  write.  Don't  wait  a  moment." 

I  wrote.  It  was  in  my  heart  to  tell  him  that 
I  loved  him.  But  something  else  was  in  my 
mind  and  my  wanton  heart  refused  to  tell  him 
that  I  would  be  his  wife.  I  had  run  away  from 
my  mother  but  I  was  not  yet  beyond  her  influ- 
ence. I  believed  that  in  her  letter  she  had  told 

291 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

me  a  truth.  Without  comforts  there  could  be  no 
home.  Poverty  supplied  no  comforts. 

It  was  evening.  I  stole  out  to  post  the  letter 
to  Edward.  My  aunt  awaited  my  return.  She 
asked  me  if  I  had  gone  out  to  post  a  letter  to  my 
mother.  To  avoid  an  argumentl  answered  that 
I  had.  She  asked  me  what  I  had  written.  "  I 
know  what  her  letter  contained  almost  as  well 
as  if  I  had  read  it,"  she  said.  "  She  told  you 
what  reason  demanded  that  you  should  do.  What 
have  you  told  her  ?  " 

"  That  I  should  do  what  reason  saw  fit  to  de- 
mand." 

She  smiled;    she  embraced  me 


292 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

HAD   BEEN    FROZEN. 

The  next  day  at  noontime  when  I  went  down 
out  of  the  office,  Edward  was  waiting  for  me. 
He  came  forward  with  more  of  reserve  than  I 
should  have  expected,  and  shook  hands  in  quite  a 
friendly  and  uncompromising  manner.  "  I  insist 
upon  you  taking  lunch  with  me,"  he  said;  and 
without  waiting  to  receive  a  negative  or  any  other 
sort  of  answer,  he  proceeded  to  lead  the  way.  I 
did  not  object.  We  went  to  "  our  old  restaurant," 
as  he  termed  it,  and  sat  down  at  our  old  table.  In 
Chicago,  history  gathers  rapidly. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  observed  that  I  am  striv- 
ing to  be  sane  today,"  said  he. 

"  You  are  so  sane  that  I  hadn't  noticed  the 
effort." 

"  But  it  has  been  an  effort  just  the  same.  You 
may,  however,  feel  perfectly  free." 

We  gave  our  orders  and  then  he  continued: 
"  Your  letter  did  me  a  world  of  good.  As  I  have 

293 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

heard  drunkards  say,  upon  receiving  money  for 
a  drink,  you  saved  my  life.  But  you  failed  to 
answer  the  vital  question.  Did  you  know  that?  " 

I  pretended  that  I  did  not  know  there  was 
a  vital  question  to  be  answered.  "  Yes,  there 
was,"  said  he.  "  You  did  not  say  that  you  would 
marry  me." 

"  Don't  you  know  I  reminded  you  once  that 
this  was  not  the  place  for  the  discussion  of  cer- 
tain subjects?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  But  there  seems  to  be  no 
place.  Your  aunt  doesn't  want  me  to  come  to 
her  house.  Does  she  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  haven't  heard  her  say  that  she — 
wanted  you.  She  is  a  peculiar  woman." 

"  Let  us  say,  rather,  that  she  is  a  very  natural 
woman.  She  objects  to  me  on  superficial  grounds 
— my  poverty.  She  knows  nothing  whatever  of 
my  character,  and  hasn't  taken  the  trouble,  I 
fancy,  to  guess  at  my  abilities.  But  has  she  said 
that  she  doesn't  wish  me  to  come  to  her  house?  " 

"  We  must  not  discuss  her." 
'Then  she  has  expressed  herself  freely?" 

"  She  is  a  woman  of  opinions  and  generally 
expresses  them." 

294 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Yes,  I  know — knew  all  about  it  from  the 
first.  I  felt  it.  But  is  there  any  place  where 
we  may  meet  of  an  evening?  When  I  come 
back  from — oh,  I  haven't  told  you  that  I  am  or- 
dered out  of  town.  Yes,  I  am.  Nevum  has  com- 
missioned me  to  go  to  St.  Paul  to  attend  to  some 
business  for  him,  and  I  shall  be  gone  perhaps  a 
month.  God,  what  an  eternity.  But  there  is 
money  in  it — business,  as  they  say;  and  it  will 
enable  me  to  approach  nearer  my  own  office, 
twentieth  story,  skylight.  I  am  to  start  this  even- 
ing and  that  is  the  reason  why  I  was  so  deter- 
mined to  see  you  today.  And  are  you  going  to 
let  me  depart  without  any  definite  hope  ?  " 

"  The  waiter  is  coming,"  I  replied.  When  the 
dishes  had  been  set  down  Edward  returned  to 
the  subject.  "  Answer  one  question  and  I  will 
not  ask  another." 

"  That  is  what  you  said  at  the  Fair,  but  for- 
got it  in  a  moment." 

"  If  I  did  it  was  love  that  caused  it.  And  love 
may  not  only  sanctify  lying  but  even  theft — 
murder."  He  leaned  over  and  whispered: 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

295 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Hush,  I'm  sure  every  one  in  the  restaurant 
hears  you." 

"  No  one  hears  me — not  even  you.  But  tell 
me  that  you  will  and  send  me  away  happy. 
Would  you  deny  a  morsel  to  a  starving  man? 
Is  it  so  hard  to  speak  one  word  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now.  It  is  not  because  I 
don't  care  for  you — I  do;  I  see  your  eyes  con- 
stantly before  me.  I  hear  your  words,  and  strains 
of  music,  in  the  street,  as  I  pass  a  house — in 
strains  of  music  I  hear  your  voice.  I  am  frank 
with  you.  I  owe  you  the  truth — but  that  is  all. 
I  will  make  you  no  promise;  but  when  you  re- 
turn I  will  then  tell  you — whether  or  not  I  can 
marry  you.  You  must  not  urge  me.  Remember 
that  I  too  may  have  my  troubles.  In  the  glorious 
selfishness  of  love  don't  forget  that  other  hearts 
might  ache.  I  have  already  told  you  more  than 
I  have  had  cause  to  tell  any  other  man.  You 
must  not  urge  me." 

'  You  have  told  me  much  and  I  thank  God 
for  it.  I  believe  you,  and  yet  I  am  constantly 
haunted  by  the  fear  that  you  regard  my  char- 
acter as  weak.  My  love  has  so  overpowered  me 
that  I  am  weak.  Incapable  of  showing  to  you 

296 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

what  I  am,  I  must  appear  to  you  a  helpless  man, 
struggling.  I  have  reached  that  stage  where 
words  fail  me.  Emotion  has  drowned  them.  But 
you  shall  see  me  come  out  of  this  fever  strong 
and  devoted.  Still  you  will  not  speak  that  one 
word." 

"  If  you  wrench  it  from  me  it  were  worth- 
less." 

"  A  phrase.  You  can  remember  them.  I  can't. 
I  know  not  how  to  turn  off  something  with  a 
sentence  remembered.  I  grope  in  the  dark,  ready 
to  bump  against  a  post.  You  carry  a  light.  My 
lamp  is  smothered.  But  I  shall  urge  you  no 
more.  Your  words — precious  words — I  shall 
take  with  me.  They  are  already  engraven  on 
my  heart.  And  when  I  return " 

"  I  will  tell  you." 

His  love  was  stronger  than  his  character,  I 
thought  as  I  looked  at  him,  listened  to  him;  and 
though  at  times  words  seemed  to  have  forsaken 
him,  yet  he  was  more  eloquent  than  a  poem  of 
strange  and  unexpected  phrases.  The  warmth 
of  his  blood  appeared  to  have  crisped  his  hair. 
I  fancied  that  if  he  should  kiss  me — it  would 
burn.  When  he  looked  into  my  eyes,  every  sense 

297 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

within  me  quickened.  A  warmer  blood  flowed 
into  my  very  toes.  The  ground  was  baking.  It 
was  the  cry  of  nature. 

We  parted  as  we  had  met,  without  demonstra- 
tion. I  went  to  the  office  heavy  of  heart.  If  I 
had  discovered  a  weakness  in  his  character,  that 
weakness  appealed  to  me.  I  resolved  to  marry 
him.  So  that  was  settled.  The  battle  was  at  an 
end.  But  when  I  went  home — when  I  saw  my 
aunt,  the  fight  was  renewed.  The  sight  of  her 
brought  back  all  of  the  weakness — permit  me  to 
term  it  weakness — of  my  education  and  training. 
Edward  had  said :  "  But  you  shall  see  me  come 
out  of  this  fever  strong  and  devoted."  Come  out 
of  this  fever — fever.  Then  he  must  himself  feel 
that  it  could  not  last.  I  was  in  love  with  his 
delirium  and  not  with  him.  With  my  head  al- 
most bursting  I  went  to  my  room.  My  aunt 
came  to  me  and  urged  me  to  tell  her  my  trouble. 
I  told  her  that  my  head  ached. 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  something  else,"  she  per- 
sisted. "  Haven't  you  seen  that  fellow  that  works 
for  Nevum  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  him.     But  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal  of  it,  I'll  tell  you,  my  dear.     I 

298 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

was  afraid  those  letters  were  from  him.  He  has 
asked  you  to  marry  him.  Gypsy,  don't  try  to 
deceive  me.  You  know  I  would  do  anything  in 
this  world  for  you.  You  know  that  when  you 
are  asleep  I  am  thinking  of  your  interest.  So, 
don't  try  to  mislead  me.  What  did  you  tell 
him?" 

"  I  did  not  tell  him  I  would." 

"  Of  course  you  didn't ;  you  are  a  sensible  girl. 
He's  got  a  fever  now  but  it  will  pass  off.  It  al- 
ways does." 

Fever!  How  did  she  know?  Were  all  of 
them,  she  and  my  mother  and  the  Peytons — were 
they  wise  and  I  the  fool? 

"  You  did  not  tell  him  you  would.  But  have 
you  any  intention  of  marrying  him?" 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I  shall  do  as  you  and  my 
mother  compel  me." 

She  kissed  me. 

In  the  dead  of  the  night  I  sat  by  the  window. 
In  the  moon,  laced  over  with  filmy  clouds,  I 
sought  to  read  my  fate.  The  voice  of  the  wind 
moaned  in  mockery.  I  went  to  bed,  dozed  and 
dreamed  of  rags  and  poverty.  I  saw  a  coffin 
and  I  inquired  as  to  who  was  enshrouded  there- 

299 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

in,  and  an  old  woman  mumbled,  "  Love."  I  saw 
a  strong  man,  raving,  and  some  one  said:  "  His 
fever  is  passing.  Soon  he  will  be  cold."  From 
these  horrors  I  awoke.  The  sun  was  shining. 
At  the  window  a  belated  bird  was  twittering. 

At  the  breakfast  table  I  read  another  letter 
from  my  mother.  Inclosed  was  a  message  from 
Samuel,  my  stepfather.  "  There  was  a  time  when 
I  advised  you  to  act  as  your  heart  dictated,"  said 
he.  "  But  the  heart  of  the  wise  and  experienced 
is  not  always  a  sure  guide.  Then  what  shall  we 
expect  from  the  heart  of  the  young  and  inexperi- 
enced? In  the  matter  that  now  confronts  you, 
follow  the  voice  of  your  mind.  Perhaps  your 
mother  is  right.  What  can  man  hope  for  when 
woman  says  that  love  does  not  endure  ?  " 

My  mother  wrote  the  same  as  before.  She 
implored  me  not  to  break  her  heart.  She  said 
nothing  concerning  the  breaking  of  my  own. 
The  letter  contained  a  piece  of  news :  "  It  is  now 
about  a  week  since  Pague  was  taken  down  with 
pneumonia.  For  several  days  there  has  been  no 
marked  change  in  his  condition,  but  the  doctor 
says  that  his  age  is  against  his  chances  of  re- 
covery. Olive  sits  by  him  night  and  day.  Some 

300 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

times  in  his  delirium  he  talks  about  Cousin 
George.  His  mind  seems  to  wander  back  to  the 
days  of  his  youth.  His  remembered  cousin  has 
no  doubt  been  dead  many  a  year.  He  has  never 
told  Olive  anything  about  him.  Poor  child,  she 
is  overcome  with  grief.  She  declares  he  is  the 
best  and  tenderest  man  that  ever  lived.  I  know 
that  her  married  Ife  has  been  happy.  I  wish  to 
impress  this  upon  your  mind." 

At  the  office  a  letter  from  Edward  was  waiting 
for  me.  I  could  see  and  feel  that  he  was  strug- 
gling to  restrain  his  impetuous  pen.  Occasion- 
ally there  was  a  reflection  of  common  sense. 
"  All  of  my  plans  are  centered  upon  you,"  he 
said.  "  Within  a  short  time  I  shall  apply  for  the 
privilege  of  beginning  my  starvation  period  at 
the  law.  The  practice  is  not  what  it  used  to  be, 
the  epitome  of  statesmanship;  but  it  continues 
to  offer  advantages  broader  and  deeper  than 
those  of  any  other  profession.  My  instructors 
have  complimented  me  upon  my  clearness  and  en- 
thusiasm. These  two  elements  are  the  corner 
stones  of  success.  Perhaps  I  might  do  better  in 
some  new  town,  in  the  West.  Think  it  over, 
please.  You  see,  I  am  taking  it  for  granted  that 

301 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

you  are  to  speak  that  one  life-giving  word.  It 
will  not  be  a  banishment  to  go  into  some  new 
community.  They  may  banish  pride  and  wealth, 
but  love  unless  torn  asunder,  cannot  be  ban- 
ished." 

I  wrote  to  him  with  more  of  mind  than  of 
heart.  When  such  a  condition  exists,  the  soul 
is  in  rebellion. 

In  the  afternoon  there  came  a  note,  by  mes- 
senger boy.  It  was  from  Bayless.  He  asked  me 
to  go  to  the  theatre  with  him  that  night.  He 
would  call,  with  a  carriage.  I  answered  that  I 
should  be  pleased  to  accept  his  invitation.  Of 
course  my  aunt  was  delighted.  "  And  in  a  car- 
riage/' she  said.  I  waited  for  her  to  say  some- 
thing about  "  affairs,"  but  finding  no  place  for 
the  word,  she  asked  to  see  the  note.  "  How 
beautifully  he  writes,"  she  went  on.  "My!  It 
looks  like  an  engraving.  There  is  no  mistaking 
his  character,  my  dear.  There  isn't  a  kink  in 
it." 

Among  our  boarders  there  were  four  women, 
detestable  creatures,  for  the  most  part — prying, 
snobbish;  and  when  the  carriage  arrived  they 
were  greatly  excited.  I  knew  that  they  were 

302 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

peeping  from  every  available  corner.  The  first 
sight  of  Bayless  as  he  entered  the  door,  elated 
me.  He  looked  like  the  picture  of  a  grand  duke 
I  remembered  having  seen  away  back,  during  my 
royalty-worshipping  childhood.  He  bowed,  took 
more  of  my  hand  than  he  had  ever  done  before, 
released  it  slowly,  with  a  slieht  nibble  at  the  tips 
of  the  fingers.  I  had  dressed  with  every  pos- 
sible care,  and  in  his  eyes  I  saw  the  flame  of 
admiration.  Love  would  have  disturbed  him  too 
much.  A  diamond  gleamed  at  me.  Into  the 
carriage  he  helped  me  with  courtly  grace,  and 
then  got  in,  to  shed  a  twilight  of  dignity.  He 
began  to  talk  of  the  theater.  He  had  seen  all 
of  the  great  personages  of  the  stage,  at  least  those 
of  his  own  generation;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
his  criticisms  were  worthy  of  a  place  in  dramatic 
literature.  He  must  have  committed  to  memory 
all  of  the  "  don'ts  "  that  the  rhetoricians  print 
in  their  books;  and  if  one  word  were  accented 
more  than  another,  it  was  when  he  avoided  some 
popular  error  of  speech.  Purist  in  manner,  word 
and  dress,  he  put  me  to  the  strain  of  studied  de- 
meanor. But  he  said  that  he  liked  my  natural- 
ness, my  frankness  of  opinion.  Sometimes,  for- 

303 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

getting  myself,  I  talked  naturally.  His  laugh- 
ter was  as  cool  as  the  breeze  that  came  through 
the  lowered  window. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you  concerning  my 
friend,  Nevum,"  said  he.  I  was  thinking  of  him, 
of  the  difference  between  the  two  men.  I  evinced 
no  interest.  I  said,  Yes  ? 

"  He  is  going  to  marry  a  charming  young 
widow.  He  came  to  me  yesterday  and  remarked 
that  the  ambition  of  his  life  was  about  to  be  at- 
tained. The  only  woman  whom  he  had  ever 
loved  had  consented  to  be  his  wife.  I  had  seen 
her,  with  him,  once  at  church — had  been  pre- 
sented to  her,  in  fact;  and  I  recalled  not  indeed 
her  features  but  her  general  manner — lively,  but 
unnecessarily  given  to  those — what  shall  I  term 
them?  To  those  little  suddennesses  that  attract 
attention — ah,  I  might  say,  action  in  repose.  I 
thought  that  he  was  much  taken  with  you." 

I  thought  that  with  the  last  remark  he  had 
permitted  some  little  feeling  to  escape  and  to  be 
borne  away  upon  his  words.  I  admitted  that 
Nevum  had  manifested  an  interest  in  me.  "  Ah, 
I  thought  so.  In  fact  he  told  me,  or  at  least 
hinted  that  you  had  been  offered  the  opportunity 

304 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

to  become  Mrs.  Nevum."  Again  he  laughed, 
and  the  breeze  through  the  window  was  cooler. 
"  Ah,  you  did  not  care  for  him?  " 

"I  couldn't." 

"  He  did  not  interest  you  ?  " 

"  He  couldn't." 

"  Very  succinctly  expressed,  I  assure  you.  No, 
he  is  not  the  man  to  inspire  a  refined  woman. 
He  has  the  lawyer's  shrewdness — the  half-true 
philosophy  of  his  profession,  but  his  sentiment 
is  but  a  well-turned  phrase.  If,  when  it  has 
been  uttered,  and  the  sound  of  it  pleases  him, 
he  attempts  to  maintain  it  as  a  principle.  But, 
upon  the  other  hand,  if  he  does  not  like  it  him- 
self, when  it  has  been  spoken  as  an  experiment, 
he  laughs  it  off  and  searches  among  his  old  saws 
for  a  brighter  instrument.  Do  you  remember  a 
young  man  who  works  for  him — Edward — 
Somers,  I  think  ?  Do  you  recall  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes."  And  now  my  heart  began  to  beat 
wildly.  "  But  I  think  he's  gone  away." 

"  Ah  ?  I  had  not  heard  so.  During  the  harder 
part  of  his  struggles  I  gave  him  such  work  as 
he  could  do,  in  my  office.  Finally,  I  recom- 
mended him  to  Nevum.  It  is  the  desire  of  his 

305 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

parents  that  he  should  become  a  lawyer;  but  I 
regard  it  an  error  of  fondness  rather  than  a 
foresight  arising  from  judgment.  In  Italy  he 
might  have  become  a  painter ;  in  Paris,  a  dramat- 
ist; in  London  a  reform  preacher;  in  Berlin  a 
composer;  but  in  America " 

"What?"  I  inquired. 

"  A  failure,"  he  replied.  "  Birds  are  hatched 
out  of  season,  and  men  are  sometimes  born  out  of 
all  time  and  out  of  all  country.  I  once  knew  a 
young  fellow  who  was  born  in  Spain,  who  lived 
in  France,  Germany,  Russia,  and  who  finally  had 
no  language,  but  a  smattering  of  many.  He 
would  have  been  happier  and  more  useful  as  a 
plowman  in  one  land.  Edward  possesses  a  little 
of  nearly  everything.  His  is  an  iridescent  tem- 
perament. He  reminds  me  of  a  grand  passion 
that  ends  in  a  sob." 

"  Why  have  you  so — sentenced  him  ?  "  I  in- 
quired. 

Was  the  breeze  stronger  or  had  he  laughed 
again  ? 

"  Because  Nevum  told  me  that  he  was  infatu- 
ated with  you." 

I  laughed.    "  And  is  it  not  something  to  have 

306 


Merciful  Unto  Me.  a  Sinner 

infatuated  a  painter  in  Italy,  a  dramatist  in  Paris, 
a  reform  preacher  in  London  and  a  composer  in 
Berlin?" 

And  now  his  laugh  was  real  and  not  so  cold. 
"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  I  might  term  it  a  multi- 
tudinous victor)^.  But  seriously — ah,  will  you  be 
serious  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  serious  as  the — the  label  on  a  poison 
bottle." 

"  A  shuddering  comparison,  but  it  will  serve/' 

"  I  am  listening." 

"  Ah,  I  hope  I  do  not  presume " 

"  You  do  not." 

"  Then  you  embolden  me  to  say  that  as  his 
wife  you  would  be  miserable." 

"  And  if  not  until  then,  perhaps  I  shall  be 
happy." 

"  By  which  you  mean  that " 

"  That  I  am  not  to  be  his  wife." 

"  Ah,  and  so  I  told  Nevum.  Permit  me — again 
without  presumption — to  say  that  I  congratulate 
your  good  sense." 

The  spirit  of  my  mother  was  with  me.  And 
as  I  alighted  from  the  carriage,  I  felt  that  I  had 

307 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sprung  out  not  upon  the  ground  but  upon  Ed- 
ward's heart. 

The  play  did  not  interest  me.  It  was  a  farce 
comedy.  But  what  was  that  one  note  in  all  this 
ribaldry  to  claim  a  moment  of  my  attention?  It 
was  a  mockery  of  love.  A  painted  thing  scoffed 
at  the  human  heart.  But  I  laughed. 

On  the  way  home  I  was  gay.  Beneath  my 
feet  was  a  heart.  But  it  was  not  warm.  It  had 
been  frozen. 


308 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

IN  A  BLACK  SKY. 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  at  my  aunt's  door, 
I  remembered  that  the  conversation  had  been 
trivial.  I  had  laughed  a  great  deal.  I  was  still 
laughing.  Bayless  seemed  warmer.  Or  was  it 
I  who  was  colder?  He  held  my  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment. I  felt  that  he  would  draw  me  toward  him. 
"  This  is  a  night  that  I  shall  remember,"  he 
said. 

"  And  so  shall  I." 

"  You  have  caused  me  to  forget  unpleasant 
things,"  he  said.  "  And  for  this  I  thank  you. 
Good  night." 

My  aunt  was  waiting  for  me.  I  threw  off 
my  cloak  with  a  laugh.  She  said  that  I  must 
be  happy.  I  told  her  that  I  was.  "What  has 
passed  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Time— that  is  all." 

"  But  didn't  he " 

"  No,  but  he  will.    It  is  coming." 

309 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  And  you  will  accept  ?  " 

'  Yes !  "  I  screamed  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 

She  followed  me.  "  I  am  going  to  write  to 
your  mother  tomorrow.  Shall  I  tell  her  you  are 
happy  ?  " 

'  Yes,  so  happy." 

"  But  you  don't  talk  like  it." 

"  But  haven't  I  said  it?  What  more  can  you 
ask?  Tell  her  that  her  spirit  is  with  me." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  will.  Don't  you  think  the 
room  is  cold?  There's  not  enough  steam  on,  is 
there?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  an  oven.  I  must  have  more 
air." 

"  But  don't  raise  that  window.  You'll  take 
your  death  of  cold.  Lower  it  just  a  little  from 
the  top.  Wait,  I'll  fix  it." 

The  air  was  stifling.  My  aunt  kissed  me  and 
went  out.  The  air  was  better.  I  looked  at  my- 
self in  the  glass,  standing  half  disrobed.  "  Hyp- 
ocrite," I  said.  "  You  have  no  character.  You 
are  a  smile,  glittered  over  with  deceit.  You  are 
going  to  sell  yourself.  The  bidder  is  respectable, 
but  are  you  ?  You  once  asked,  '  What  is  virtue  ?  ' 
I  will  tell  you.  It  is  something  you  do  not  pos- 

310 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sess.  You  have  not  fallen  but  you  are  preparing 
to  fall.  A  painter  in  Italy — dramatist  in  Paris! 
Ah,  what  would  you  have  been  in  Babylon  ?  " 

In  the  morning  there  came  a  letter  from  my 
mother.  Old  Pague  was  dead.  Why  did  she 
hasten  to  write  to  me?  His  mind  wandered  to 
the  verge  of  death  and  he  had  babbled,  not  of 
green  fields,  but  of  "  Cousin  George."  And  I  had 
been  a  party  to  this  deception.  Age  was  his 
crime;  affection  his  weakness — trustfulness  his 
idiocy.  Olive  was  heartbroken.  Yes,  I  knew 
that.  Her  appearance  of  sorrow  was  remorse. 
"  But  I  am  following  you,"  I  said.  "  You  were 
weak  enough  to  be  driven  and  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  resist.  Over  my  head  there  is  a  silver 
hammer.  It  will  fall." 

At  the  office — there  was  Edward's  letter.  He 
had  been  disturbed  by  dreams.  So  had  I.  But 
he  did  not  believe  that  they  could  be  true.  I  did. 
He  had  an  ideal — virtue.  He  might  not  live  up 
to  it,  but  he  worshiped  it;  and  I  was  that  ideal. 
His  fever,  if  such  it  was,  might  pass,  but  in  his 
mind  he  would  hold  me,  the  image  of  his  devo- 
tion. For  himself  he  had  constituted  a  religion. 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

For  myself  there  was  none.     While  professing 
Christ  I  had  turned  from  love. 

At  noontime  I  went  to  "  our  restaurant."  At 
"  our  "  table  I  sat  and  mused.  Coming  out  I  said 
to  myself:  "What  is  the  use?  Why  should  I 
continue  to  fight  when  I  have  already  acknowl- 
edged defeat  ?  " 

After  this  I  felt  stronger.  It  was  because  I 
was  weaker — because  I  had  completely  surren- 
dered. Two  days  passed.  There  came  a  letter 
from  Olive.  Her  husband  had  been  buried.  She 
thought  that  a  visit  to  me  might  help  her.  I  did 
not  care  to  see  her.  I  wrote  at  once,  telling  her 
not  to  come — that  I  should  be  away,  on  business. 
How  anxious  she  was  to  flee  from  his  grave. 

In  the  evening,  I  sat  with  my  aunt  in  the 
parlor.  She  asked  me  if  Bayless  had  written. 
I  told  her  no,  and  she  said  that  it  was  strange 
that  I  had  not  heard  from  him.  "  But  I  warrant 
you  the  other  man — that  Edward  has  written. 
Hasn't  he?" 

"  Yes,  there  comes  a  letter  from  him  every 
day." 

"  But  you  must  encourage  him  to  write.  Do 
you  answer  his  letters  ?  " 

312 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Not  all  of  them." 

'  What  do  you  say  when  you  write?  " 

"  I  don't  tell  him  that  I  shall  be  his  wife." 

The  door  bell  rang.  Aunt  hastened  out.  I 
heard  a  voice.  Bayless  had  come.  "  Gypsy  is 
in  the  parlor.  Walk  in." 

He  entered,  hesitated,  bowed ;  and  I  gave  him 
my  hand.  He  sat  down  near  me.  Silence.  I 
heard  my  aunt  going  up  the  stairs.  She  halted 
as  if  to  listen.  He  spoke  of  the  weather.  He 
disliked  a  winter  in  Chicago.  I  heard  my  aunt, 
going  on  up  the  stairs.  His  voice  was  a  sym- 
phony. I  recognized  its  chords  but  its  harmonies 
could  not  be  caught.  Edward  was  a  melody.  I 
could  hum  him.  For  a  long  time  he  talked  on 
downy  subjects.  A  puff  and  they  were  gone. 
"  Today  I  couldn't  work — couldn't  read,"  he 
said.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  what  kept  me  from  work- 
ing and  reading?  I  was  reviewing  my  life.  It 
was  not  marked  by  achievement.  But  it  was  not 
a  failure,  as  I  viewed  it.  Except — except  that 
I  had  not  found  a  companion — a  ray  of  light  to 
illumine  my  soul." 

It  was  coming.  I  looked  down.  His  voice 
grew  softer. 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Once  I  was  engaged  to  marry."  I  looked  up 
and  quickly  he  added :  "  For  a  short  time.  The 
woman,  older  than  myself,  had  not  indeed 
charmed  me,  but  had  attracted  me  with  her  social 
graces  and  the  literary  finish  of  her  conversation. 
But  I  could  get  literature  from  books.  I  desired 
something  which  the  library  could  not  furnish/' 

Was  there  ever  such  a  prelude  to  a  proposal? 

"  I  don't  think  that  her  heart  was  touched. 
Suitability  engages  the  heart — in  the  best  way. 
Then  surely  she  was  not  suitable.  One  night  we 
talked  it  over  and  I  offered  to  emancipate  her 
and  she  accepted  freedom  with  a  readiness  that 
was  not  wholly  a  compliment." 

He  was  smiling. 

"  Since  then  I  have  gone  in  society  somewhat, 
it  is  true,  but  I  have  formed  no  attachments. 
That  is,  not  until  I  met  you.  I  hope  I  do  not  em- 
barrass you." 

"  No,  sir,"  I  murmured. 

"  I  thank  you.  I  am  a  believer  in  the  fitness  of 
things.  I  believe  that  happiness  is  not  a  passion 
so  much  as  it  is  an  arrangement,  an  understand- 
ing. They  tell  us  of  the  dullness  of  married  life, 
of  the  lack  of  interest  that  follows  the  honey- 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

moon.  It  is  nearly  always  because  the  proper 
selection  was  not  made,  the  correct  arrangement 
formulated.  You  are  a  woman  of  whom  I  could 
be  proud.  I  spoke  to  you  once  of  your  fitness  to 
adorn  a  home.  I  can  supply  that  home,  and  I  ask 
that  you  may  adorn  it.  I  do  not  press  you  now 
for  an  answer.  It  is  something  for  you  to  con- 
sider. But  if  you  have  had  similar  thoughts  con- 
cerning me  and  can  answer  me  to-night,  I  shall 
deem  it  a  favor.  This  is  a  plan  I  have  in  view. 
My  reference  to  my  dislike  of  a  winter  here  was 
not  idle.  I  intend  a  trip  to  Europe,  at  the  earliest 
time  within  the  province  of  convenience,  and 
thence  to  the  Nile,  where,  as  you  must  know,  the 
rigors  of  winter  may  be  escaped." 

There  may  have  been  such  proposals.  Out  of 
no  experience  can  there  arise  a  proper  forecast 
for  the  eccentric  mind,  the  course  it  may  pursue, 
the  odd  turns  it  may  take  in  either  business  or 
marriage — perhaps  the  same  thing.  Romance 
has  its  customs,  love  its  well-worn  paths.  But 
what  shall  I  say  of  this  offer,  the  offer  which 
I  had  been  taught  to  believe  was  one  dictated  by 
common  sense?  I  had  thought  that  he  might 
betray  some  little  emotion,  that  he  might  hint 

315 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

at  his  love  for  me.  But  he  did  not.  He  sat 
placidly  waiting  for  my  answer.  He  did  not  tell 
me  to  take  my  time,  to  pronounce  each  syllable 
correctly,  but  his  manner  seemed  to  advise  it. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  am  the  woman  to  make 
you  happy  ? "  I  inquired,  looking  earnestly  at 
him;  and  without  a  change  of  countenance  he 
answered :  "  I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  And  it  should 
be  my  aim  to  render  you  happy.  We  have  intel- 
lectual tastes  in  common.  We  should  be  com- 
panions, respecting  each  other's  differences  of 
opinion.  I  should  not  attempt  to  subvert  your 
mind,  the  extinguishment  of  so  many  women. 
As  far  as  possible  you  should  retain  your  own 
individuality.  Does  this  seem  to  meet  with  your 
view?  " 

"  Yes,  but  do  you  think  that  I  am  worthy  of 
such  a  confidence?  " 

"  If  I  did  not  think  so  I  should  not  have  en- 
tered into  particulars." 

"  But,"  I  persisted,  "isn't  there  some  danger 
that — I  hardly  know  how  to  say  it." 

"  Oh,  have  no  hesitation." 

"  Well,  then,  you  have  no  fear  that  you  might, 
316 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

in  the  future,  meet  some  woman — might  fall  in 
love  with  some  one?  " 

He  smiled  upon  me.  "  I  offer  you  everything. 
There  would  be  nothing  left  to  bestow  upon  an- 
other woman." 

What  an  acknowledgment.  Was  he  about  to 
make  love  to  me? 

Yes,  he  was.  He  took  my  hand  and  held  it,  but 
that  was  all.  "  Am  I  to  have  your  answer  now 
or  must  I  wait?  "  he  inquired,  and  his  tones  were 
as  soft  as  the  cooing  of  a  dove — but  as  cool  as 
the  flutter  of  a  fish.  I  could  not  help  admiring 
him.  He  did  everything,  said  everything,  with 
such  grace. 

"  You  shall  have  my  answer  now.  I  will  be 
your  wife." 

The  word  "  wife "  startled  me.  My  face 
burned. 

As  I  remember  it,  he  thanked  me.  He  said 
that  he  would  send  me  the  details  of  his  European 
tour.  "  Our  marriage  should  not  be  deferred 
more  than  three  weeks,"  said  he.  "  This  is  hasty, 
I  know,  but  steamships  don't  wait.  Neither  do 
seasons.  The  winter  will  soon  be  upon  us.  It  is 
not  a  pleasant  time  to  cross  the  sea,  but  that  must 

317 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

not  stand  in  our  way."  He  arose,  looked  at  me, 
into  my  eyes;  he  took  my  hand  and  touched  it 
with  his  lips. 

My  aunt  was  waiting  for  me.    "  Has " 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  and  you  are  engaged?" 

"  Please  leave  me  to  myself." 

"  But,  dear,  won't  you  let  me  congratulate 
you?" 

"  Not  to-night.    Please  leave  me." 

She  withdrew.  I  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  upward.  There  was  no  veiled  moon  in 
which  to  search  for  my  fate.  I  read  it  in  a  black 
sky. 


318 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

TO  DEVELOP  A  TALENT. 

It  was  a  long  night.  The  dawn  hung  like 
a  pall.  I  had  thought  that  the  fight  would  be 
easier.  Long  ago  I  had  decided  that  it  was  fin- 
ished. But  it  was  not  my  own  virtue  that  must 
needs  be  overcome.  It  was  my  love  for  Edward. 
At  last,  however,  I  said  to  myself  that  this,  too, 
was  dead.  Now  nothing  remained  except  a  de- 
termination to  do  my  duty. 

When  I  went  forth  from  the  house  everything 
looked  different.  Upon  the  world  I  seemed  to 
turn  a  "  mind  of  vast  experience."  Things  in 
the  office  appeared  changed.  The  men  were  older, 
the  girls  more  careworn.  Mr.  Roland  compli- 
mented me  upon  my  freshness.  How  uncon- 
scious an  irony!  I  thought  to  tell  him  of  the 
withdrawal  of  my  services,  but  decided  to  wait 
until  I  should  receive  the  "  letter  of  specification." 
It  was  waiting  for  me  when  I  returned  home  in 
the  evening.  We  were  to  be  married  three  weeks 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

from  that  day.  As  it  was  his  desire  to  avoid  all 
possible  notice,  the  ceremony  was  to  be  performed 
at  home.  My  aunt  stood  near  me  as  I  read  the 
letter.  I  handed  it  to  her  and  she  gulped  it  with 
her  eyes. 

"  But  how  can  I  get  ready  in  so  short  a  time?  " 
I  inquired  of  her. 

It  was  some  moments  before  she  answered  me. 
To  her  the  letter  was  delicious.  "  Now  don't 
begin  to  find  fault,"  she  replied.  "  Such  haste 
in  a  man  is  always  a  good  sign.  It  is  the  way 
he  expresses  his  love.  It  means  more  than  if 
said  in  words.  It  means  that  your  outfit  will  be 
bought  for  you  in  Paris.  All  you  now  need  are 
a  few  traveling  dresses.  They  can  be  got  ready 
without  delay.  Oh,  what  a  fortunate  girl !  " 

How  willing  one  woman  is  to  help  another 
woman  violate  her  own  soul.  "  I  will  leave  it  all 
in  your  hands,"  said  I ;  and  in  her  gratitude  she 
kissed  me.  "  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should 
work  another  day,"  she  said.  '  You  have  some 
money  coming  to  you.  Go  down  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and — discharge  yourself.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
did  Nevum  ever  settle  up  with  you  ?  " 

"  No.    I  suppose  he  forgot  it." 

320 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Forgot  it  the  cat's  foot.  Go  right  out  and 
put  the  account  into  the  hands  of  some  bad  debt 
collector.  No,  don't  do  that.  He  was  kind 
enough  to " 

"  Ask  me  to  marry  him,"  said  I,  expecting  her 
to  smile,  but  she  didn't.  She  took  it  in  all  seri- 
ousness. '  Yes,  that  is  quite  true,"  she  said.  "  I 
suppose  it  did  escape  his  mind.  The  reason  I 
spoke  of  money  just  at  this  time  was  because  I 
wondered  if  it  wouldn't  be  the  proper  thing  to 
have  your  mother  come.  She  could  take  back 
glowing  reports  with  her,  you  know.  But  then 
I  will  write  to  her  and  tell  her  all  about  it." 

This  was  a  decision  that  my  mother  was  not 
to  be  present.  And  to  speak  the  truth,  I  agreed 
with  it  heartily.  It  was  the  only  heartiness  that 
I  had  felt.  I  was  willing  enough  to  communicate 
to  her  the  fact  that  I  had  obeyed  my  teaching  and 
had  sold  myself,  but  I  did  not  wish  her  to  witness 
the  transfer. 

Mr.  Roland  was  much  astonished  when  I  told 
him  that  I  was  to  quit  his  office.  He  offered 
to  show  me  into  the  manager's  room,  as  a  bribe 
against  my  determination  to  quit,  and  while  ap- 
preciating the  honor,  I  was  forced  to  decline  it. 

321 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

So  I  received  what  little  money  was  coming  to 
me  and  went  out — free,  I  was  going  to  say,  but 
out  into  the  air  of  approaching  slavery  would  be 
nearer  the  truth.  But  what  was  this  I  carried  in 
my  hand?  A  letter  from  Edward — unopened, 
dumbly  reproaching  me.  I  was  determined  not  to 
read  it,  and  yet  I  knew  that  I  would,  on  the  car ; 
and  I  did.  He  begged  for  more  encouragement. 
In  my  next  letter  I  must  tell  him  without  reserva- 
tion that  I  loved  him.  I  could  do  that.  I  must  tell 
him,  also,  that  I  would  marry  him.  Slowly  I  tore 
the  letter  into  bits.  When  I  got  off  the  car,  I 
sowed  them  in  the  wind. 

Honor  dictated  a  letter  to  Edward.  I  wrote  it, 
but  could  not  send  it.  I  felt  that  he  would  rush 
home  and  create  a  scene.  That  something  which 
I  had  accepted  as  common  sense  suggested  that 
as  a  duty  due  to  myself  I  should  deceive  him  fur- 
ther. I  would  tell  him  nothing  about  my  ap- 
proaching marriage.  But  silence  would  tell  him 
enough,  and  therefore  I  must  keep  up  a  pretense 
of  "  fidelity."  This  was  not  easy,  but  it  must 
be  done.  So  that  night  I  wrote  to  him.  My 
letter  was  mainly  a  string  of  verses,  quotations 
that  like  silken  threads  ran  through  my  memory. 

322 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

My  mother  wrote  her  delight.  There  was  just 
a  little  whimper  that  she  had  not  been  urged  to 
attend  the  wedding.  However,  she  was  thank- 
ful to  know  that  I  was  happy.  Nothing  had  been 
said  about  happiness,  but  my  aunt  had 
"  stressed  "  the  fact  that  Bayless  was  rich,  and 
this  meant  everything,  including  my  happiness. 
One  evening  aunt  remarked  that  she  didn't  see 
what  had  become  of  the  time.  I  had  seen ;  it  had 
died  and  was  still  dying  by  inches.  But  when  I 
hinted  as  much,  she  rebuked  me.  "  Why,"  said 
she,  "  there's  not  a  girl  in  this  town  that's  as 
happy  as  you  ought  to  be.  Just  note  with  what 
envy  every  one  in  this  house  looks  on  you.  But 
of  course  from  your  point  of  view  no  one  in  this 
house  amounts  to  anything — now." 

"  Why  now  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know.  Now  let  me  see,  are 
there  any  friends  you  wish  to  ask  to  the  wed- 
ding?" 

"  I  have  no  friends.    I  am  a  stranger  here." 

She  sighed  and  compressed  her  lips.  "  Friends 
here  mean  money  here,"  she  said.  After  a  few 
moments  she  inquired:  "What  has  become  of 

323 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  young  man — the  one  that  came  to  see  you? 
That  Edward.  What  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  be  here." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  she  said.  "  He  is  just 
about  foolish  enough  to  make  trouble." 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  could." 

"  Oh,  he'd  find  a  way.  A  man  always  does 
when  he  thinks  a  woman  loves  him.  Young  men 
are  so  presumptuous.  Look  at  one  of  them  and 
he  believes  you  are  in  love  with  him."  The  door 
bell  rang.  "  That  must  be  Mr.  Bayless,"  she 
said,  springing  up  in  a  flutter  of  excitement.  It 
was  Bayless.  I  had  half  expected  him  and  more 
than  half  had  hoped  he  would  not  come  that  night. 
Somehow  it  was  one  of  the  nights  when  I  thought 
most  of  Edward.  Why  did  I  think  of  him  more 
at  one  time  than  at  another?  This  was  a  ques- 
tion which  I  asked  of  myself  but  which  I  could 
not  answer. 

Soon  Bayless  and  I  were  alone  in  the  parlor. 
My  aunt  no  longer  stood  upon  the  stairs  to  listen. 
All  had  been  said — all  that  she  cared  to  know. 
Victory  belonged  to  her.  As  to  myself — it  made 
no  difference. 

Bayless   complimented  me  upon  my  appear- 

324 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ance.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  I  was  happy. 
In  striving  to  deceive  myself,  I  deceived  him. 
He  talked  with  such  fervor  of  our  purposed  trip 
abroad,  of  the  many  countries,  the  art,  that  a 
glow  threatened  to  drive  the  coolness  from  his 
eyes. 

"And  when  we  return?"  said  I,  looking  into 
his  eyes. 

"  A  home  shall  be  in  readiness  for  us.  It  is 
then  that  we  shall  begin  truly  to  live.  I  shall 
pursue  my  work,  and  you  may  cultivate — any  tal- 
ent you  desire  to  make  most  prominent." 

He  said  this  with  a  smile.  And  it  was  with 
truth  that  I  answered  him :  :<  I  have  no  talent." 

"  You  could  take  up  music." 

"  Idleness  accented,"  I  replied.  This  pleased 
him.  "  Or  drawing,"  he  added. 

"  Uselessness  labeled,"  said  I. 

He  laughed  with  real  heartiness.  He  said  that 
my  want  of  vanity  was  a  positive  delight.  It  was 
this  that  had  first  drawn  him  toward  me.  Where 
there  was  so  little  of  the  egotist  there  must  be 
great  virtue.  How  little  he  knew  of  my  nature. 
I  did  not  see  him  through  a  mist,  but  reflected 
from  a  mirror  of  ice.  Suddenly  I  felt  that  my 

325 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

love  for  Edward  was  dead.  Then  arose  a  sense 
of  my  conquest  over  this  man — it  came,  this 
sense,  like  a  dewy  morning  breath,  and  I  was 
thrilled.  I  saw  the  great  capitals  of  Europe; 
I  saw  the  Nile;  and  springing  up  I  ran  to  the 
piano  and  plucked  an  old  air,  a  rollicking  tune 
from  the  wild  hillside  where  the  black  haw  trees 
were  wont  to  bloom.  When  I  looked  up  he  was 
standing  beside  me. 

"  Once  more,  witch,"  he  said,  leaning  over  and 
touching  my  cheek  with  his  own.  "  Make  that 
bare-foot  boy  dance  again." 

I  saw  myself  on  the  hillside.  He  saw  himself, 
dancing ;  and  then  I  could  see  him,  without  shoes, 
a  gleeful  boy,  with  his  straw  hat  lying  on  the 
ground.  I  could  see  the  imprisoned  grasshoppers 
crawling  from  under  the  hat. 

"  Exquisite,"  he  said,  resuming  his  seat. 
"  And  yet  you  say  you  have  no  talent  for  mu- 
sic." 

"  It  wasn't  music,  but  a  picture  for  both  of 
us." 

"  A  picture,  and  still  you  have  no  talent  for 
drawing.  Ha,  it  was  a  painting  in  tones."  He 

326 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sat  with  one  side  of  his  face  resting  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  "  Are  you  happy?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  and  at  that  moment  I  was. 
Or  was  it  an  illumined  desperation?  I  wonder 
what  I  should  have  said  had  he  asked  me  if  I 
loved  him. 

The  clock  in  the  hall  began  to  strike.  I  did 
not  count  the  hour,  but  he  remarked  that  he  had 
no  idea  that  it  was  so  late.  "  Ha,"  he  remarked, 
"  you  pin  the  wings  of  butterflies  to  the  minutes 
and  over  the  hours  you  hoist  a  summer's  sail." 

This  flattered  me.  A  washerwoman  is 
charmed  with  a  poetic  idea  if  she  inspires  it.  He 
kissed  me  good  night.  I  went  up  stairs  with  my 
lips  cool.  If  I  had  loved  him  for  a  moment  it  was 
when  as  a  boy  he  caught  the  grasshoppers.  I  sat 
down  to  read — poetry,  "  the  melodious  sigh  of 
the  soul,"  but  from  it  I  drew  no  consolation.  I 
threw  down  the  book.  Consolation!  I  found  it 
in  the  victory  over  myself  and  in  my  conquest 
over  a  man. 


327 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ROLLED   AWAY. 

To  be  bound  with  ribbons  to  one  whom  we 
love — ah,  how  we  might  muse  over  it,  a  sunrise 
in  the  spring  time  of  joy.  But  when  the  willing 
law  binds  us  with  a  chain  grown  rusty  from  the 
tears  that  have  dripped  upon  it !  Let  us  not  muse. 
Let  us  not  draw  out  the  hour,  the  words  of  the 
preacher.  The  last  word  has  been  spoken  and 
the  carriage  rolls  away. 

In  my  mind  there  was  no  impressive  feature 
arising  out  of  the  ceremony  of  my  self-sale.  I 
remembered  that  an  old  man  with  a  trembling 
voice  pronounced  the  banishment  from  girlhood 
into  womanhood.  I  recalled  that  just  before 
going  down  stairs  I  had  torn  to  bits  an  unread 
letter.  Ah,  and  I  had  written  a  few  lines  to  tell 
of  my  treachery.  In  all  of  my  life  there  had  been 
but  one  sweet,  emotional  dream,  and  now  it  was 
ended.  The  mother,  the  aunt — money  had  tri- 
umphed. There  was  to  be  no  anxious  look  into 

328 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

the  pinched  countenance  of  a  hungry  child. 
Ragged  poverty  was  not  to  rock  the  cradle.  Obe- 
dience, self-sacrifice,  virtue — for  are  we  not  sub- 
lime only  to  the  degree  that  we  banish  all  thought 
of  self  and  retain  the  images  of  those  more 
worthy  of  consideration?  About  me  had  been 
gathered  pale  and  faded  women,  eager  ghosts  of 
dead  desires ;  and  in  their  sunken  eyes  the  light  of 
envy  shone.  But  the  last  word  had  been  spoken 
and  the  carriage  had  rolled  away.  Happiness  may 
tremble,  but  it  was  with  the  cold  that  I  shivered. 
Beside  me  he  sat,  with  a  smile  cooler  than  the 
air.  Ah,  beginning  of  wedding  journey,  thou 
self-centered  stupidity!  Romance,  wash  your 
thin  rags  and  hang  them  on  a  vine  to  dry. 

The  train,  the  long  shadows  of  the  afternoon 
flying  with  us,  the  distant  trees,  the  life-sapped 
leaves  fluttering  between  me  and  the  setting  sun ! 
Night,  the  rumble,  the  halt,  the  cry  of  "  all  right  " 
far  off  in  the  dark,  and  again  the  rumble.  Day- 
light— the  hills,  like  my  old  hills,  brown,  and  with 
echoes  of  the  past  seeming  to  lie  in  the  valleys 
between  them — sad  and  reproachful  echoes — the 
past  that  should  speak  again  only  out  of  its 
shroud. 

329 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Another  city,  but  clear  of  smoke ;  the  ship,  the 
heaving  bosom  of  the  troubled  ocean.  And  now 
for  days  at  a  time  it  seemed  that  all  of  the  sick- 
ness of  the  entire  world  came  upon  me;  and  in 
the  merciful  interim  I  went  out  upon  the  deck  to 
breathe  the  air.  My  husband  was  as  sympathetic 
as  he  could  find  it  in  his  smooth  and  unemotional 
nature  to  be,  and  mutely  in  my  heart  I  was  con- 
stantly begging  him  to  forgive  me.  To  forgive 
me  for  what?  Was  I  not  determined  to  be  unto 
him  a  faithful  and  "  law-abiding  "  wife  ?  I  had 
often  mused,  far  remote  from  the  world's  water, 
that  to  gaze  upon  the  ocean  would  be  the  mother 
of  most  stirring  emotion — the  past,  the  present 
and  the  future  tumbling  before  me.  But  some- 
how I  could  not  get  my  mind  to  grasp  it.  It  was 
like  a  landscape,  a  cloud,  a  mere  matter  of  course 
and  not  to  be  wondered  at;  I  could  not  conjure 
it  into  appearing  strange.  I  wondered  if  it  were 
to  be  thus  throughout  the  history-trod  countries 
I  was  destined  to  visit.  The  sudden  change  in 
my  spiritual  life  had  seemed  to  change  all  ma- 
terial things.  The  ship,  that  great  wonder  of  all 
ages,  was  of  no  interest  to  me.  I  strove  to  recall 
romances  of  the  sea,  but  they  had  faded  from  my 

33° 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

memory.  Once  when  the  sun  was  setting  I  found 
an  interest  and  a  stimulus  to  talk.  Muffled  to 
protect  us  from  the  sharp  air,  Bayless  and  I  were 
sitting  on  the  deck.  The  ship  kept  on  threaten- 
ing to  plunge  head  foremost  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  but  hesitated  and  shuddered.  My 
husband  said  hundreds  of  little  things  that  did 
not  evoke  an  answer.  Was  it  that  already  I  had 
begun  to  know  what  he  was  going  to  say  ?  Mere 
cultivation,  how  tiresome!  It  is  only  the  talk  of 
temperament  that  we  enjoy.  "  I  am  reminded," 
said  I,  gazing  out  upon  our  resplendent  wake, 
"  of  something  I  read  years  ago — don't  know 
where  I  found  it :  '  Experience  is  like  the  light 
at  the  stern  of  a  ship.  It  illumines  only  the  path 
gone  over.  That  is  recollection.  But  the  sun 
illumines  all  paths.  That  is  wisdom." 

"  A  very  good  thought — for  a  man,"  he  said. 

"  Why  for  a  man?  "  I  inquired,  looking  at  him, 
for  there  was  something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice 
that  smacked  of  mild  censure. 

"  I  mean  for  a  man  who  has  failed  in  life,"  he 
replied.  "  But  for  a  young  woman  it  sounds  too 
seasoned." 

"  I  like  to  be  called  seasoned.    At  first  I  was 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

afraid  that  you  might  think  me  frivolous.  But 
if  I  do  show  seasoning  it  must  be  because  I  had 
been  taught  to  be — not  exactly  silly,  but  light. 
And  the  seasoned  thought  was  a  sort  of  rebel- 
lion." 

"  Ah,  and  have  you  always  been  rebellious  ?  " 

"  Not  actively ;  but  the  sweetest  rebellion  is 
sometimes  passive." 

"  And  was  it  rebellion  that  drove  you  to  read 
rebellious  books  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  my  books  were  re- 
bellious. Yes,  they  were,  in  a  manner ;  they  were 
written  for  men.  Books  written  especially  for 
women  are  not  worth  reading.  There's  not  a 
thought  in  a  hundred  pages.  Women  writing 
for  women  must  give  advice,  and  men,  writing 
for  women,  feel  that  they  must  be  silly." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  said  anything,  and 
I  thought  that  he  had  suffered  the  subject  to 
drop,  but  after  a  while  he  remarked :  "  I  am  one 
free  to  say  that  I  don't  think  the  so-called  wise 
book  good  for  woman.  It  '  undomesticates  '  her, 
so  to  speak.  It  leads  to  dissatisfaction — unques- 
tionably. I  never  saw  a  learned  woman  who 

332 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

wasn't  dissatisfied,  not  only  with  herself  but  with 
her  husband,  if  she  had  one." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  she  must  have  been  a  com- 
panion to  her  husband,  if  she  had  one,  and  if  he 
were  inclined  to  think." 

"  But  it  is  almost  impossible  for  two  trained 
minds,  of  the  opposite  sex,  to  think  agreeably 
along  the  same  channel." 

"  Yes,  possibly,  if  they  chance  to  be  married 
to  each  other,"  I  offered  as  a  suggestion. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  said,  without  hesitation. 
"  There  must  in  all  government  and  in  all  busi- 
ness relationships  be  one  dominant  spirit,  one 
master  mind.  If  the  man  acknowledges  the  su- 
premacy of  the  woman  and  accepts  it  as  final,  he 
may  be  contented  to  be  known  as  her  husband. 
But  from  the  moment  he  acknowledges  this,  he 
begins  to  decline  intellectually." 

"  Then  you  don't  acknowledge  complete  or 
rather  equal  companionship,  do  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes — after  there  has  been  established  a 
complete  understanding.  A  man,  if  he  be  reason- 
ably intelligent  and  mature,  ought  to  know  what 
is  good  for  his  wife.  He  is  her  protector,  and — 
well,  her  guide." 

333 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Ah,  after  she  has  acknowledged  his  superior- 
ity/' said  I. 

"  Well,  at  least  when  she  has  observed  his  ma- 
turity." 

This  was  the  beginning.  He  had  married  me 
because  he  fancied  that  I  was  possessed  of  a 
mind,  but  to  himself  he  reserved  the  right  to 
guide  it.  He  had  not  spoken  thus  on  the  occasion 
of  our  buggy  ride,  the  time  when  he  had  said 
that  I  was  so  fitted  to  adorn  a  home.  But  per- 
haps homes  were  not  adorned  with  minds.  Some- 
where I  read  that  the  mind  of  a  drunkard's 
daughter  is  likely  to  be  dangerously  explorative. 
This  was  a  timely  thought.  I  was  stimulated  to 
rebel  against  it,  to  subvert  myself,  if  need  be, 
to  my  husband's  notions.  And  I  did  try  hard. 
But  he  was  always  so  nearly  perfect  and  I  was 
always  so  far  from  it.  He  went  so  far  as  to 
tell  me  what  I  ought  to  eat.  He  was  not  only 
making  of  me  a  companion  but  a  part  of  himself 
— the  part  to  be  advised  and  corrected.  And  he 
did  it  with  such  "  unrtrffledness."  He  was  so 
smooth,  so  exact.  Once  when  going  down  the 
steps  he  stumbled  slightly,  and  I  asked  him  if  he 
were  sure  that  he  had  done  it  in  the  correct  man- 

334 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ner,  and  he  said  nothing  but  he  reproached  me 
with  his  cool  eyes.  Pain  is  not  more  the  enemy 
of  happiness  than  dignity  is  of  love. 

In  Westminster  Abbey  he  cautioned  me  not  to 
betray  my  wonder.  In  Paris,  where  I  purchased 
dresses  and  hats  that  would  have  excited  the 
envy  of  Olive,  he  threw  a  cool  repression  over 
my  rising  spirit,  there  in  that  hilarious  sunshine. 
In  Germany  we  drank  beer,  and  he  told  me  when 
I  had  enough.  In  Italy  I  marveled  too  much. 
These  little  things  comprised  my  European  trip. 
I  hated  the  countries  through  which  we  leisurely 
took  our  way,  and  yet  America — home,  could 
offer  nothing  as  an  improvement.  Not  once  did 
he  show  any  temper.  He  was  always  cool  and 
dignified. 

We  went  up  the  Nile,  but  I  did  not  see  antiquity 
lying  asleep,  dreaming  along  the  shores;  I  was 
listening  to  be  told  what  I  ought  not  to  do.  He 
reproached  me  for  my  lack  of  interest.  He  said 
that  I  would  rather  read  of  such  things  than  to 
see  them.  That  was  true.  I  could  read  alone. 

After  "  doing "  the  traveler's  world,  we  re- 
turned to  Rome.  Here  Bayless  settled  down  to 
the  study  of  his  profession.  Hot  weather  came 

335 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

but  it  did  not  ruffle  him.  Unto  himself  he  must 
have  been  a  coolness.  I  could  not  read  Italian, 
but  in  our  hotel  there  was  a  large  number  of  old 
English  books,  and  with  them  I  spent  my  even- 
ings and  many  of  my  mornings  and  noons.  It 
was  a  musty,  but,  I  must  confess,  the  only  de- 
licious part  of  my  "  travels."  My  letters  to  my 
mother  were  invariably  cheerful.  But  sometimes 
it  was  hard  to  keep  a  "  mood  "  from  stealing  into 
them.  One  day  I  received  a  notable  letter  from 
Olive.  "  You  may  not  be  surprised  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  am  no  longer  the  Widow  Pague,"  she 
said.  "  Just  one  week  ago  to-day  Charley  and  I 
were  married.  This  makes  all  records  clean, 
doesn't  it?  I  think  that  my  mother  wanted  me 
to  look  around  for  another  old  gentleman,  but 
as  I  was  the  mistress  of  an  estate,  she  did  not 
presume  to  argue  with  me.  I  know  you  must 
be  happy,  away  over  there  in  that  artistic  past. 
Some  day  Charley  and  I  are  going  over  the  same 
ground.  We  have  both  joined  the  church,  and 
you  have  no  idea  how  Charley  has  sobered  down. 
How  I  glory  in  his  love  for  me.  I  am  too  happy 
to  write." 

A  few  days  later  there  came  a  letter  from 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Chicago.  I  was  expecting  one  from  my  aunt. 
This  one  was  from  a  woman  who  boarded  there 
and  who  had  been  one  of  the  ghosts  at  my  wed- 
ding. It  bore  a  piece  of  sad  news.  My  poor 
aunt  had  died  of  pneumonia. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

EXPLORING  HIS  MIND. 

Mr.  Bayless  took  a  "  sensible "  view  of  my 
grief.  He  said  that  as  I  had  not  been  long  at 
my  aunt's  house  my  sorrow  was  not  such  as  must 
have  resulted  from  the  death  of  a  "  long  stand- 
ing associate."  Those  were  his  words.  What 
he  said  was  in  a  measure  the  truth  and  there- 
fore I  regarded  him  as  the  more  cold-blooded  to 
remark  it.  In  all  things  and  upon  all  occasions 
he  was  so  philosophical  that  I  was  once  prompted 
to  ask  him  if  he  were  not  of  Scotch  lineage,  and 
he  answered  that  his  parents  were  not  only  born 
and  brought  up  in  Scotland  but  had  been  mar- 
ried in  that  meditative  and  self-contained  coun- 
try. In  comparison  with  Rome,  moss-grown 
with  time,  ivied  over  with  history — sentiment 
eternal;  in  comparison  with  Rome,  Chicago  is 
but  a  wild  and  clamoring  adventure,  and  yet  I 
longed  to  breathe  again  its  sharp,  inspiring  air. 
I  was  weary  of  art.  I  longed  again  to  look  into 

338 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

the  eyes  of  the  untutored  soul.  I  was  nauseated 
with  the  past.  But  so  determined  was  I  to  mould 
myself  to  my  husband  that  I  expressed  no  wish. 
My  chief  aim  was  to  explore  his  mind  and  to 
anticipate  his  whims.  But  he  was  like  the  future. 
I  could  not  fathom  him.  He  had  no  whims,  no 
impulses.  He  was  a  smooth,  an  even  and  a  tire- 
some road,  unexpected  at  times  only  because  I 
could  not  see  how  he  was  to  become  smoother. 
But  he  did.  If  he  were  not  imperious  enough 
to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do,  he  was  so  "  just " 
as  to  speak  of  what  I  should  not  have  done.  At 
the  hotel  table  an  American  traveler  related  a 
humorous  incident,  so  flavored  with  the  fun  of 
my  own  country  that  I  laughed  louder  than  the 
waiter  might  have  thought  proper;  and  my  hus- 
band looked  at  me  with  rebuke  in  his  eye.  That 
night  when  we  were  alone  I  said  to  him : 

"  I  wish  you  would  draw  up  a  set  of  rules  for 


me." 


He  looked  up  from  his  great  black  book  of 
drawings,  towers  and  cupolas,  and  fixed  his  critic 
eye  upon  me :  "  Rules  ?  " 

"  Yes,  so  that  I  may  know  how  to  act.  I  am 
a  barbarian  in  Rome." 

339 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  should  think  that  your  own  good  sense 
might  teach  you." 

"  But  it  doesn't— it  won't.  I  don't  think  I 
have  any  good  sense." 

"  You  knew  how  to  act  when  you  were  helping 
Nevum  to  collect  bad  debts."  . 

"  Probably  it  was  because  there  wasn't  any- 
thing in  a  bad  debt  to  laugh  about." 

"  Gypsy,  you  remind  me  of  an  expression  the 
English  critics  used  a  number  of  years  ago — or 
rather  an  expression  applied  to  certain  critics. 
They  were  called  '  smart  slaters/  because  they 
were  always  eager  to  sacrifice  truth  and  art  to 
the  opportunity  of  saying  something  they  con- 
ceived to  be  smart." 

"  And  I  am  a  smart  slater." 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  you  are." 

"  Well,  it  requires  some  sense,  at  least.  You 
are  promoting  me." 

"  Now,  please  don't  be  silly." 

"  Mr.  Bayless,  there  is  something  that  I  should 
like  for  you  to  tell  me." 

"  Well,"  he  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  in  what  way  I  have 
disappointed  you.  If  I  am  so  wrong  now,  how 

340 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

could  I  ever  have  had  the  appearance  of  being 
right?  How  could  I  have  so  deceived  a  man  of 
your  discernment?  In  what  way,  now,  have  I 
fallen  so  short  of  your  expectations  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  his  book,  turned  a  few 
leaves  and  then  looked  again  at  me.  "  Do  you 
wish  to  know  the  truth  ?  " 

"  I  am  asking  you  for  the  truth." 
"  It  is  because  you  do  not  love  me." 
"  Love  you  ?    You  didn't  ask  me  if  I  loved  you. 
You  must  have  taken  that  for  granted." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  I  take  it  for  granted  when 
you  consented  to  be  my  wife?  " 

"  You  are  standing  on  the  mountain  top  of 
morality  and  therefore  I  cannot  argue  with  you. 
The  fact  that  you  fancy  yourself  cheated  places 
me  wholly  in  the  wrong,  and  I  shall  not  say  that 
I  was  right.  But  I  thought  that  I  could  learn 
to  love  you  and  I  have  been  trying — am  still  try- 
ing. And  if  you  help  me,  I  shall  succeed — I  think. 
It  is  my  ambition  to  be  your  companion." 

"  You  have  tried  to  love  me.  Then  I  have 
married  an  experiment." 

"  I  thought  all  marriages  were  experiments." 
"  Oh,  did  you  ?     But  an  honest    word   might 

341 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

have  set  aside  our  experiment.  I  am  beyond  the 
experimental  age." 

"  Then  you  are  beyond  the  age  when  you 
should  have  married." 

:<  What,  reproaching  me  with  my  age,  are 
you?" 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  to  do  that.  Let  us  not 
dispute.  Draw  up  a  list  of  my  faults  and  I'll 
promise  to  study " 

"  That  is  foolish,"  he  broke  in. 

*'  But  we  can't  go  on  in  this  way.  We  are 
drifting  apart." 

He  arose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 
"  Drifting  apart,"  he  repeated.  "  Have  we  really 
ever  been  together  ?  You  have  always  been  occu- 
pied in  your  own  way.  You  take  no  interest  in 
my  work.  You  read  things  that  I  care  nothing 
for,  and  an  antagonistic  book  is  the  wedge  that 
splits  a  household  asunder." 

"  But  you  don't  expect  me  to  read  books  on 
architecture,  do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  expect  anything." 

"  Mr.  Bayless,  the  truth  is  that  you  are  disap- 
pointed in  me  and  you  cannot  hide  it.  Therefore, 
everything  I  do  is  wrong.  I  did  not  expect  to 

342 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

place  myself  at  once  upon  a  plain  with  you.  I 
knew  that  it  would  require  time,  but  I  had  hoped 
that  time  would  be  granted.  You  seemed  to 
be  considerate  and  I  thought  you  would  be  pa- 
tient. But  as  I  said  before,  let  us  not  dispute. 
I  give  myself  into  your  hands.  You  shall  be  my 
teacher.  Perhaps  when  we  go — home,  I  may 
appear  better.  Here  I  am  too  new,  too  raw  for 
my  surroundings.  Help  me." 

No  human  being  could  have  been  more  sincere. 
No  heart  could  have  been  more  earnest  in  its  en- 
deavor to  please.  In  my  mind  there  arose  no 
thought  in  rebellion  against  my  husband. 

In  the  Vatican  there  was  a  picture  of  a  young 
priest — it  bore  a  resemblance  to  Edward;  and 
when  I  saw  it  I  hastened  away,  and  no  more  did 
I  go  into  that  room.  For  a  long  time  I  had 
dreamed  about  Edward,  but  even  from  the  visions 
that  came  with  sleep  I  banished  him.  I  was  deter- 
mined to  be  true  not  only  consciously  but  uncon- 
sciously as  well. 

One  morning  Mr.  Bayless  said  that  within  a 
few  days  we  were  to  sail  for  home.  The  word 
home  leaped  into  my  heart — it  died  there  and 
I  must  have  grown  pale,  for  he  said :  "  Hasn't 

343 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

any  terror  for  you,  has  it.  I  thought  you  wante'd 
to  return  to  America." 

"  I  do." 

"Then  why  that  look?" 

"  I  wasn't  conscious  of  any  look.  Please  don't 
torture  me." 

'  Torture  you  ?  You  tell  me  you  want  advice 
and  when  I  talk  to  you,  you  complain  that  I  tor- 
ture you." 

And  thus  it  was  day  after  day.  But  some- 
times, though  the  occasions  were  rare,  he  would 
drop  back  into  his  "  pre-married "  graces,  his 
poses,  his  faultlessness  of  demeanor;  and  it  was 
then  that  he  would  talk  entertainingly,  almost  as 
he  had  talked  when  he  took  me  out  driving,  when 
he  said  that  I  had  come  with  verses  in  my  eyes. 
Ah,  how  long  ago  that  seemed  now!  Then  our 
differences  in  tastes  were  amusing,  but  now  they 
bore  the  promise  of  a  coming  tragedy.  One 
night  I  asked  him  to  go  with  me  to  the  opera. 
He  answered  that  he  desired  to  study.  I  said 
nothing,  but  finding  a  book,  a  sweet  old  thing, 
"A  Sentimental  Journey,"  I  was  soon  lost  in 
the  winding  ways  of  its  Gothic  labyrinths,  when 
Bavless  looked  up  from  his  black  book  of  draw- 

344 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ings  and  said :   "  Gypsy;  the  Sphinx  is  chatty 
compared  with  you.    What  are  you  reading?" 

I  told  him. 

"  What,  that  vulgar  slush  ?  " 

"  Vulgar  ?  Why,  I  find  in  it  a  thousand  del- 
icate beauties.  Nowhere  is  there  such  an  at- 
mosphere. It  reminds  me  of  a  silk  handkerchief 
full  of  ripe  plums." 

"  What  would  you  do  if  I  didn't  offer  you  an 
opportunity  to  whet  yourself  sharp?  Silk  hand- 
kerchief— ripe  plums." 

"  There  was  a  time  when  you  would  have 
called  it  a  pretty  fancy.  So  it  is  you  and  not  I 
who  have  changed." 

"  Changed !  Do  you  think  a  sensible  man 
wants  that  sort  of  stuff  constantly  dinged  into 
his  ears?  I  can  stand  a  good  deal  of  it — have 
stood  a  great  deal,  but  there  is  a  limit  to  endur- 
ance." 

"  Well,  tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  say  and 
I  will  say  it." 

'  There  you  go  again.  Is  it  possible  that  you 
have  no  respect  for  me  at  all  ?  By  the  way,  there 
was  something  I  intended  to  speak  to  you  about. 

345 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

You  are  developing  too  much  of  a  fondness  for 
wine." 

"  I  will  leave  it  off  entirely." 

"  Now,  I  didn't  mean  that.    You  misconstrue 
everything  I  say." 

"  Are  you  done  with  me  ?  May  I  return  to 
this  book?" 

"  Oh,  by  all  means.  Ah,  whom  do  you  prefer, 
Sterne  or  Rabealis?" 

"  I  have  never  made  the  acquaintance  of  Rab- 
ealis." 

"  Is  it  possible !  I  thought  you  loved  all  the 
children  of  Boccaccio." 

"  I  have  never  read  him,  either." 

"  You  astonish  me." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  what  to  read,  I  will  read 
it." 

"  Oh,  out  of  a  determination  to  be  respectable, 
eh?  When  we  are  good  by  determination,  we 
are  like  the  drunkard,  sober  between  sprees.  But 
I  don't  suppose  you  can  help  it  if  your  tastes  are 
low." 

"  Mr.  Bayless,  this  book  is  a  classic.  It  is  as 
much  a  part  of  English  literature  as  Shakespeare 
himself.  It  was  not  intended  for  children,  per- 

346 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

haps,  and  neither  was  the  Bible.  And  I  wish 
to  tell  you  that  my  tastes  are  as  pure  as  yours, 
even  if  your  parents  were  Scotch.  Before  you 
reply,  let  me  say  that  I  couldn't  have  believed  it 
possible  that  I  could  endure  so  much.  I  used 
to  think  that  your  coolness  was  mere  respectabil- 
ity; now  I  know  that  it  was  a  lack  of  soul.  You 
have  no  heart — and  I  shall  no  longer  try  to  love 
you." 

"  Indeed !  Now  that  is  a  blow  in  a  most  vital 
spot.  You  will  no  longer  try  to  love  me.  Have 
I  importuned  you  to  try?  I  discovered  very 
early  that  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  you  were 
simply — passive.  When  you  thought  that  I  was 
not  taking  note,  you  sighed  out  your  spirit,  and 
turning  to  me,  you  were  lifeless.  Whenever  you 
have  evinced  any  life  at  all,  it  has  been  to  say 
something  to  grate  upon  me.  Oh,  you  are  quite 
martyr-like  when  you  fold  your  hands  and  de- 
clare that  you  will  do  as  I  like.  But  why  haven't 
you  discovered  what  I  like?  It  was  your  duty 
to  do  so.  Don't  tell  me  that  you  have  tried  to 
be  my  companion.  You  have  not.  You  are 
companion  only  to  your  own  inimical  thoughts." 
Yes,  it  was  thus  that  the  days  and  nights  wore 

347 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

along.  I  hated  the  sunrise,  the  sunset — the 
moon  and  the  stars.  My  married  life  had 
merged  everything  into  one  endless  distaste.  I 
did  not  try  to  justify  myself.  About  me  there 
was  something  wrong,  but  I  was  constantly 
seeking  for  it,  to  eradicate  it. 

At  last  we  were  ready  to  sail  for  America.  I 
did  not  dare  think  of  going  home.  That  word 
had  been  blotted  out.  Europe  had  been  a  night- 
mare. Now  what  was  America  to  be  ? 


348 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

LOOKED  AT  HIS  WATCH. 

We  arrived  in  Chicago  near  the  latter  end  of 
May,  having  been  abroad  nearly  two  years.  Our 
house  had  been  made  ready,  a  beautiful  place  in 
Prairie  Avenue.  For  a  moment  I  was  almost 
happy.  Was  it  to  be  a  home?  How  well  ap- 
pointed was  everything,  my  room;  but  above  all, 
the  library,  with  many  an  old  book.  At  the  ap- 
pointed time  the  friends  of  my  husband  gath- 
ered about  us,  in  our  house,  to  bid  us  welcome 
home.  Never  in  my  life  did  I  exert  myself  more 
to  please ;  never  did  I  strive  to  make  my  hus- 
band believe  that  I  was  happy.  But  when  the 
guests  were  gone  and  the  lights  were  turned  low, 
he  reproached  me  for  the  effort  I  had  made.  He 
said  that  it  had  been  too  obvious.  It  had  been 
a  strain.  I  admitted  it  to  him,  and,  in  relaxa- 
tion, being  too  wearied  to  defend  myself,  I 
sought  the  solitude,  ah,  the  grateful  solitude  of 
my  own  room.  I  thought  of  my  poor  aunt. 

349 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

That  day  I  had  stood  by  her  grave.  I  had  gone 
to  the  place  where  she  had  lived  and  worried, 
and  had  asked  the  strangers  there  to  let  me  sit 
for  a  moment  in  the  room,  my  room,  where  I  had 
mused  at  the  window,  where  I  had  gazed  up- 
ward into  the  black  clouds. 

The  coming  and  the  going  of  the  days  brought 
no  vital  change.  Some  man,  a  friend,  said  that 
he  thought  Mr.  Bayless  was  losing  his  health. 
I  reproached  myself  with  being  the  cause,  and 
when  we  went  to  church  on  the  following  Sun- 
day I  prayed  fervently  for  a  settlement  of  all  of 
our  differences.  That  night  as  my  husband  and 
I  sat  in  the  library  I  told  him  that  I  loved  him. 
It  was  not  the  truth,  but  I  told  him  because  I 
thought  it  my  duty.  He  looked  at  me  and 
yawned. 

"  What  did  you  say?  "  he  inquired. 

How  hard  it  was  to  repeat  the  word.  But  I 
did.  "  Oh,"  he  said,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

Sometimes  we  would  sit  for  hours  without  ut- 
tering a  word.  But  when  company  came  he 
would  brighten,  talk  about  our  travels  and  re- 
mind me  of  the  places  we  had  visited  together. 
How  they  were  fading  from  my  mind,  those 

350 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

travels.  It  was  all  like  a  dream,  curtained  about 
with  a  mist. 

It  must  have  been  about  two  months  after  our 
return  that  he  was  commissioned  to  draw  the 
plans  for  a  public  building  in  Minneapolis.  And 
it  was  necessary  that  he  should  spend  much  of  his 
time  in  that  city,  he  said.  When  I  asked  him 
if  it  would  be  of  any  advantage  for  me  to  go 
with  him,  he  smiled. 

"What  good  could  you  do?"  he  inquired. 

"  But  I  could  be  with  you." 

"  I  said  what  good." 

"  Yes,  I  understood  you.  I  didn't  know  but 
you  might  need  a  typewriter." 

"  Do  you  think  I  want  to  take  you  there  in 
that  capacity?  I  have  some  little  pride  left — for 
myself,  at  least.  Miss  Cretchmar  will  go  with 
me." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  My  stenographer." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  possible  that  you  could  be  jeal- 
ous, is  it?" 

"  No,  I'm  not  jealous.  But  you  never  spoke 
about  her." 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  don't  talk  about  business  at  home." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  haven't  spoken  of  her." 

"  Oh,  a  very  good  reason." 

I  was  glad  when  he  left.  Now  the  house  was 
all  mine.  In  it  I  ran  riot.  The  servants  seemed 
to  be  amazed  at  me.  One  night  I  made  candy 
as  we  used  to  do  in  the  country,  and  gleefully  I 
pulled  it  with  the  house  maid.  Everything 
seemed  happy  because  Bayless  was  away;  and 
the  next  morning  a  bird  with  a  new  song  came 
to  my  window.  My  husband  was  gone  nearly  a 
week  before  he  wrote  to  me.  His  letter  was  as 
short  and  as  cold  as  his  smile.  Another  week 
passed  and  he  suddenly  appeared,  at  breakfast; 
and  with  him  came  a  cold  cloud.  But  I  pretend- 
ed that  I  was  glad  to  see  him.  I  plied  him  with 
questions,  to  prove  my  interest,  and  when  he  re- 
mained silent,  which  he  did  for  the  most  part,  I 
continued  with  my  questions. 

"  Are  your  affairs  progressing  well  ?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  very  well." 

"  Is  it  to  be  a  very  large  building? " 

352 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Yes.  How  have  you  been  spending  your 
time?" 

"  Reading,  mostly;  and  to  please  you  I  took 
down  a  book  full  of  towers  and  cornices  and 
made  a  study  of  the  drawings." 
"  How  could  that  please  me?  " 
"  I  don't  know,  but  I  thought  it  might." 
Then  there  fell  a  silence,  and  through  it  a 
cool  breeze  seemed  to  be  blowing.     The  follow- 
ing day  was  Sunday,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  would 
like    to    attend  church.     "  Please  come  on,"  I 
urged  him.    "  The  day  is  beautiful." 

No  matter  how  anxious  he  might  have  been 
to  go,  my  willingness  seemed  to  lame  his  step 
with  a  halt.  Then  occurred  the  idea  that  it  was 
his  desire  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  this  thought 
worried  me,  in  the  night  when  he  was  asleep. 
On  this  particular  Sunday  he  contributed  liber- 
ally to  the  church,  was  cheerful  with  everyone 
whom  he  met,  but  the  moment  he  had  entered  his 
own  door  a  silence  fell  upon  him.  In  the  even- 
ing, however,  when  a  friend  dropped  in,  his  spir- 
it arose  and  he  laughed.  I  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise. I  had  almost  forgotten  that  there  was 

353 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

any  mirth  left  in  his  nature.  When  the  visitor 
was  gone,  I  said: 

"  Every  one  else  brings  you  pleasure.  I  alone 
turn  down  the  lamp  of  your  countenance." 

"  How  long  did  it  take  you  to  think  of  that 
sharp  thing?  "  he  asked,  wearily  seating  himself 
in  his  big  leather  chair. 

"  It  was  not  a  sharp  thing;  it  was  simply  a 
truth,"  said  I,  standing  near,  looking  down  upon 
him.  He  turned  his  eyes  upward  and  they 
seemed  all  white,  ghastly ;  and  without  speaking 
a  word  he  looked  down,  his  hands  listless  on  the 
arms  of  the  chair. 

"  Mr.  Bayless,  will  you  please  answer  one 
question  and  answer  it  honestly?  " 

"  An  honest  question  shall  be  honestly  an- 
swered," he  replied.  "  What  is  the  question — if 
it  is  honest  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  honest.  You  can't  help  but  recog- 
nize that.  It  is  this:  Wouldn't  you  be  hap- 
pier without  me?  " 

He  looked  up  at  me,  his  eyes  all  white,  and 
looked  down  again. 

"Wouldn't  you?" 

"Now  what's  the  use  of  talking  that  way? 

354 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Must  a  man  be  reproached  for  his  temperament  ? 
Don't  you  suppose  I  am  human  being  enough  to 
have  my  moods?  And  if  I  have,  am  I  to  blame 
for  them?" 

"  No,  you  aren't  to  blame  for  having  moods, 
perhaps,  but  aren't  you  to  blame  for  making  only 
a  half  secret  of  the  fact  that  /  am  to  blame?  " 

"  Who  said  you  were  to  blame?  " 

"  You  didn't,  but  wouldn't  you  be  more  hon- 
est with  me  if  you  were  to  say  so?  " 

"  Ah,"  he  spoke  up,  "  and  don't  you  believe 
that  a  little  honesty  as  you  go  along  would  be 
good  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  it,  and  I  shall  begin  by 
telling  you  something.  I  was  almost  happy 
while  you  were  away." 

"Almost!     Why  not  completely?" 

"  Because  I  expected  you  to  return." 

I  ought  not  to  have  said  this.  I  regretted  it 
a  moment  afterward.  I  begged  his  pardon.  I 
told  him  that  it  was  not  true,  but  he  knew  that 
it  was.  "  Oh,  don't  take  it  back,"  he  said. 

I  started  toward  the  door,  hoping  that  he 
would  call  me  back,  but  he  did  not.  I  waited, 
looking  around,  but  he  did  not  turn  his  eyes  to- 

355 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ward  me.  Then  I  hastened  back  to  him,  at- 
tempted to  sit  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  but  Tie 
motioned  me  off. 

"  Please   let    me   have    a    moment's    peace — 
alone,"  he  said;  and  I  left  him  sitting  there. 


356 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

DOWN    TO   THE    CITY. 

My  letters  to  my  mother  were  "  happy."  But 
whenever  she  spoke  of  coming  to  visit  me,  I  al- 
ways put  her  off.  This  was  hard  to  do,  of  course 
— I  mean  hard  upon  me;  but  Bayless  had  de- 
clared that  she  must  not  come.  How  the  months 
passed  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  recall. 
I  have  retrospective  visions  of  sullen  breakfasts 
and  gloomy  dinners — and  of  long  nights  alone  in 
the  library,  reading,  wondering  how  it  was  to 
end.  As  the  winter  months  came  on  I  was  taken 
with  neuralgia.  The  family  physician  gave  me  a 
powder  that  eased  the  pain.  It  was  morphine. 
Soon,  or  I  might  say  at  once,  I  discovered  that 
it  not  only  relieved  the  suffering  but  quieted 
me  mentally,  rendering  my  unhappy  condition 
a  matter  of  dreamy  indifference.  In  many  ways, 
however,  all  my  faculties  seemed  to  be  quickened. 
My  mind  became  strangely  active;  my  memory 
was  strengthened.  Books  that  I  had  read  years 

357 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ago  came  back  to  me.  I  could  almost  see  the 
printed  page.  But  when  the  influence  of  the 
drug  passed  off,  all  of  my  former  wretchedness 
returned,  intensified.  I  knew  that  to  become  a 
slave  to  morphine  meant  a  living  death;  I  had 
read  and  heard  enough  to  convince  me  that  it 
meant  degradation  in  every  way,  morally,  phys- 
ically, mentally;  and  at  times  I  fought  against 
it,  yielding  only  when  the  world  and  especially 
my  own  household  atmosphere  grew  black  before 
my  eyes  and  in  my  soul,  the  mirror  of  life.  Bay- 
less  did  not  suspect;  he  did  not  see  the  chains 
that  were  forging.  The  winter  passed  listlessly 
away,  and  I  could  not  see  or  feel  that  the  habit 
was  growing.  Sometimes  I  asserted  my  free- 
dom from  it,  felt  strong  again  in  my  determina- 
tion to  make  something  of  my  life.  But  the 
shadow  was  over  me.  My  married  life  was  a 
failure  beyond  hope. 

For  the  most  part  Mr.  Bayless  was  engaged 
in  drawing  the  plans  of  buildings  outside  of  Chi- 
cago. The  newspapers  had  spoken  of  his  studies 
in  Rome.  In  the  smaller  cities  this  was  of  im- 
portant weight.  It  was  as  if  one  had  gone 
thither  to  study  sculpture  or  fiddling. 

358 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

One  morning  I  heard  my  husband  giving  in- 
structions as  to  the  packing  of  his  trunk.  I 
asked  him  if  he  were  going  away. 

"  Yes,  to  Duluth,"  he  answered. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  gone  long?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  that  part  of  it  does  interest 
you." 

"  Mr.  Bayless,"  I  said,  standing  before  him  as 
he  sat  in  his  leather  chair,  "  don't  leave  me  with 
bitter  words  to  taste  in  your  absence.  Let  us 
think  of  each  other  as  kindly  as  we  can.  If  we 
have  made  a  mistake  in  our  marriage,  let  us  rec- 
ognize it  and  make  the  best  of  it.  You  have 
talked  about  philosophy.  Let  us  apply  it.  The 
serenest  heart  is  often  the  one  that  has  been 
broken  and  mended.  Let  us  begin  now  to  mend 
ours." 

I  fancied  that  this  was  an  appeal  not  easy  to 
resist.  In  the  mood  then  upon  me  I  felt  the  force 
of  a  calm  resignation  and  I  am  sure  that  it  must 
have  shown  in  my  countenance,  but  if  so,  it  was 
met  with  resentment. 

"  A  mistake  is  all  the  more  accentuated  when 
we  make  a  virtue  of  it,"  he  replied,  looking  at 

359 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

me  with  his  olden  smile,  now  grown  colder  with 
the  years. 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  "  but  a  mistake  may  be  turned 
into  a  virtue." 

"  No  homilies,  please." 

"  But  am  I  to  say  nothing?  Am  I  always  to 
be  silent?" 

With  an  impatient  hand  he  motioned  my  dis- 
missal, but  I  would  not  go.  "  Are  you  so  fond 
of  quarreling  ?  "  he  asked ;  and  now  his  smile 
was  freezing. 

"  It  is  hopeless,"  I  muttered. 

He  nodded.    "  It  looks  that  way,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  for  you  will  have  it  that  way.  And 
now  would  you  mind  telling  me  if  that  Crutch- 
mar  woman  is  going  with  you  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  ask?  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  care,"  he  replied,  slowly  moving  his  feet 
on  the  floor. 

"  You  have  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  care 
very  much,  it  is  true.  But  I  still  reserve  the 
privilege  of  the  wife.  I  inquire." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  the  question  arises  out  of  the 
privilege  and  not  out  of  concern.  By  the  way, 

360 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  think  I  have  recognized  one  of  your  contribu- 
tions to  literature.    Here  it  is." 

From  his  desk  he  took  out  an  afternoon  news- 
paper and  pointed  to  a  screed  entitled  "  Why 
Marriage  Is  a  Failure." 

"  You  wrote  that,"  he  said. 

"  I  did  not." 

"Read  it  before. you  answer." 

;'  What  is  the  use  since  I  know  that  I  didn't 
write  it?  I  know  that  it  is  not  so  strong  as  I 
could  make  it." 

He  dropped  the  paper  on  the  floor.  I  heard 
it  scraping  on  the  carpet  as  he  wiped  his  feet 
upon  it. 

"  Just  as  plain  as  if  you  had  signed  your  full 
name  to  it,"  he  said. 

"  There  are  other  women,  Mr.  Bayless ;  and 
perhaps  it  is  a  matter  of  selfish  consolation  to 
know  that  I  am  not  the  only  one  whose  heart  has 
been  broken." 

"  What,  your  heart  broken !  "  He  laughed. 
"  A  woman  marries  for — well,  opportunity.  It 
is  given  to  her.  She  sighs  over  it,  pities  herself 
in  what  she  considers  a  poetic  way,  and  then  says 
that  her  heart  is  broken.  How  could  I  break  that 

361 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

which  you  have  never  given  into  my  keeping — 
something  you  have  kept  hidden  from  me?  If 
you  have  had  a  heart  you  buried  it  in  an  iceberg 
before  you  married  me." 

"  I  offered  it  to  you  and  you  spurned  it.  But 
perhaps  you  didn't  find  it  to  your  notion.  It  may 
not  have  seemed  so  sympathetic  as  the  heart  of 
a  Cretchmar,  for  instance." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  speak  that  woman's  name  in 
my  presence." 

"  Is  it  so  sacred?  " 

"  Compared  with  some  that  I  know  it  is  holy." 

Without  bidding  him  good-by  I  left  him  there. 
I  heard  them  taking  out  his  trunk — heard  him 
drive  away;  and  a  sense  of  freedom  came  down 
from  heaven. 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  over  into  Jackson 
Park.  In  places  how  desolate  it  was,  the  ruin  of 
a  world's  gaiety.  Workmen  were  pulling  down 
the  iron  skeletons.  Nearly  all  of  these  bare 
giants  had  been  removed.  Those  that  remained 
were  grimmer  in  their  loneliness.  Their  lives 
had  gone  out  in  fire — martyrs  at  the  stake  of 
demolishing  progress.  The  day  was  warm  and 
breathful  of  perfume,  the  redolence  of  early 

362 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

wild-flowers  growing  amid  crumbling  concrete. 
The  birds  that  had  flown  to  the  south  on  that 
autumn  day,  which  now  seemed  so  long  ago,  had 
all  of  them  come  back  to  sing  in  joyousness. 

For  a  long  time  I  wandered  about,  looking  for 
fading  spots  of  history — my  history;  but  few 
were  there  to  be  found,  for  the  pickax  and  the 
shovel  had  been  active.  But  there  was  one,  the 
umbrella-shaped  tree  on  the  wooded  island;  and 
here,  on  the  same  bench  I  sat  down  to  muse.  It 
was  not  difficult  to  fancy  myself  free  again,  to 
imagine  that  I  had  just  come  from  my  aunt's 
house.  In  the  soft  air  I  heard  the  music  strains 
of  the  many  nations,  echoes  of  a  world's  holiday. 
Some  one  turned  aside  from  the  path,  halted, 
gazed  at  me — Edward.  It  was  the  past  come 
back  again  and  it  made  me  dumb ;  and  I  sat  there 
as  in  a  trance,  unable  to  move.  I  heard  a  sigh, 
and  I  knew  that  he  was  sitting  beside  me.  The 
present  rushed  upon  me,  smothering  the  sweet 
thrill  of  the  past. 

"  Gypsy — Mrs.  Bayless." 

He  took  my  hand.  Slowly  I  withdrew  it,  but 
I  did  not  arise.  The  present  had  not  completely 
returned. 

363 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  meet  you  here,"  I  said, 
almost  breathlessly. 

"  I  come  here  often,"  he  replied.  "  In  the 
summer  I  rest  here.  This  seat  is  my — vacation. 
Alone?  No,  a  spirit  is  always  here  with  me,  and 
that  spirit  is  here  now — embodied." 

I  looked  into  his  eyes.  There  was  that  same 
out-pour  of  something  into  my  own.  Again  he 
took  my  hand  and  I  did  not  withdraw  it,  for  his 
words  were  so  sweet,  the  first  I  had  heard  in 
years — so  sweet  that  I  could  not  resist  him. 

"  It  has  been  a  long  time,"  he  said,  speaking 
low. 

"  Yes,  a  very  long  time,"  I  replied,  my  hand  in 
his.  We  sat  in  silence.  On  the  grass  the  robins 
were  playing.  Not  one  among  them  had  sold 
her  heart. 

He  began  to  speak,  and  before  I  comprehend- 
ed his  words,  so  low  were  they,  it  seemed  that  I 
was  listening  to  soft  music,  a  hymn ;  and  I  could 
scent  the  flowers  heaped  upon  the  coffin  of  a  dead 
hope.  I  listened  without  interrupting  him  and 
after  a  time  his  words  pierced  in  upon  me. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  came  back  here," 

364 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

he  said,  holding  my  hand  close.  "  When  your 
note  came " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  I  pleaded. 

'  Yes,  let  me  speak  of  it.  When  it  came — I 
knew  for  the  first  time  that  your  heart  was  mine, 
that  you  loved  me — that  they  had  sold  you.  You 
couldn't  disguise  it.  It  was  as  if  you  had  sent 
the  letter  from  your  death-bed." 

"  Please  don't  talk  about  it.  Tell  me  about 
yourself." 

"  It  is  of  myself  that  I  am  telling  you.  But  I 
did  not  in  my  heart  reproach  you.  I  simply  felt 
that  you  had  fought  against  them  as  long  as  you 
could  and  that  you  had  been  unable  to  conquer." 

Not  a  word  of  reproach.  Surely  his  heart  was 
merciful  and  forgiving. 

"  Yes,  for  a  long  time  I  stayed  away  from 
here.  I  went  to  Kansas  and  continued  my  stud- 
ies as  best  I  could;  and  when  I  returned  to  Chi- 
cago a  year  afterward,  I  was  prepared  for  the 
bar.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  distant 
relative,  a  lawyer  more  in  need  of  rest  than  of 
practice;  and  I  took  an  office  with  him  and  have 
managed  to  make  a  fair  sort  of  a  living.  Of 
course  my  great  incentive  was  gone,  but  I 

365 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

worked  hard.     My  associate  lives  out    in    the 
country  and  doesn't  come  in  very  often." 

"  There  is  one  question  that  I  hope  you  will 
not  ask  me,"  said  I;  and  he  drew  me  closer  to 
him,  saying  that  he  knew  what  it  was.  "  You 
don't  wish  me  to  ask  you  if  you  are  happy,"  said 
he. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it." 

"  Then  you  will  tell  me  without  my  asking," 
he  replied;  and  I  thought  of  the  time  when  he 
had  sworn,  there  in  that  very  seat,  to  keep  his 
word,  but  had  not.  "  You  haven't  changed 
much,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes,  outwardly.  They  say  that  I  have 
sobered  into — well,  some  of  my  friends  call  me 
the  undertaker.  But  how  little  you  have 
changed.  And  if  at  all,  for  the  better.  You 
are  handsomer  than  ever.  In  your  eyes  there 
is  more  soul,  and  your  voice,  if  possible,  is 
sweeter." 

"  You  must  not  talk  that  way,"  I  replied,  pull- 
ing my  hand  away  from  him.  He  looked  at  me, 
smiling  sadly.  I  arose.  I  told  him  that  I  must 
go  home. 

366 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  No,    not    yet/'    he    declared.      "  Sit    down, 
please,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 
'''  But  perhaps  you  ought  not  to  say  it." 
"  Then  it  is  more  worth  the  hearing,  don't  you 
know.     Wait  just  a  moment.     There  can  be  no 
harm  in  talking  to  me,  can  there?     Hasn't  a 
married  woman  the  privilege  of  talking  to  her 
former — friends?     Sit  down,  please." 

I  sat  down.  My  heart  was  so  hungry  for  his 
words.  "  What  is  it  you  were  going  to  say?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  But  will  you  promise  not  to  go  away  ?  " 
"  I  will  promise  to  do  the  best  I  can." 
He  leaned  toward  me.    He  attempted  to  take 
my  hand,  but  I  forbade  it.     "  Still  fighting  me," 
he  said. 

"  But  I  must  fight  now,  you  know." 
"  No,  you  mustn't.  Gypsy,  I  have  dreamed 
of  you  every  night.  And  although  I  said  just 
now  that  the  great  incentive  to  work  was  lack- 
ing, yet  it  was  not  wholly  lost,  for  in  my  dreams 
I  always  possessed  you — and  the  time  will  come 
when  I  shall  possess  you.  Don't  shake  your 
head ;  you  know  it  must  be.  Nature  has  one  cry 

367 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

above  all  others  for  me — that  we  belong  to  each 
other." 

"  You  must  not — you  shall  not  talk  to  me  that 
way." 

Again  I  arose.  But  my  feet  were  shod  with 
lead.  What  harm  could  there  be  in  listening  to 
this  faithful  heart?  But  I  was  waiting  for  him 
to  beg  me  to  sit  down;  and  this  he  did,  not 
in  words  only  but  in  sonnets.  I  sat  down  again, 
declaring  that  I  ought  not  to  listen  to  him,  and 
yet  longing  in  a  way  not  well  disguised,  for  more 
of  his  words,  his  heart-throbs.  They  were  as 
the  echo  of  my  own  pulsations.  All  of  the  laws 
in  the  world  cannot  make  a  morality.  This  qual- 
ity must  have  been  born  within.  But  I  shall  not 
strive  to  defend  myself.  No  matter  how  much 
it  costs  me  I  must  tell  the  truth,  for  without  truth 
no  moral  can  be  drawn  from  a  story,  and  without 
this  a  story  might  better  remain  in  the  darkness 
of  the  mind. 

"  More  than  once  I  sought  to  find  out  whether 
you  had  returned,"  he  went  on,  "  but  there  was 
no  way,  except  by  watching  the  newspapers  with 
the  hope  of  seeing  your  name.  After  an  age  I 
found  it.  But  then  I  did  not  know  where  you 

368 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

were  to  live ;  and  after  this  I  waited  for  the  new 
directory  to  come  out.  When  it  did  come,  only  a 
few  days  ago,  I  seized  it  as  a  man  might  snatch 
a  telegram.  And  then  I  found  out.  I  went  to 
the  place,  or  rather  to  a  place  near  by  and 
watched  for  you — waited  a  long  time — more 
than  once — not  with  the  intention,  however,  of 
making  so  bold  as  to  speak  to  you.  I  wanted 
or  rather  I  hoped  simply  to  see  you — to  feed  my 
starving  eyes.  To-day  I  was  rewarded.  I  saw 
you  come  out  of  the  house  and  I  followed  you 
to  this  place.  And  you  are  not  going  to  leave 
me  now." 

"  But  I  must  go  pretty  soon." 

"  Why  should  you  go  ?  I  saw  them  take  a 
trunk  out  of  the  house  and  I  saw  Bayless  drive 
away.  Let  us  live  for  a  time  as  we  once  lived — 
free;  and  then  if  you  wish  to  leave  me,  never  to 
see  me  again — but  this  must  not  be.  Once  you 
told  me  that  without  my  love  you  would  be  mis- 
erable. Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  were  sitting  here." 

"  Yes,  and  the  sun  was  sinking  just  as  it  is 
now.  Ah,  and  the  memory  of  those  words,  min- 
gled with  the  light  of  the  sinking  sun,  has  kept 

369 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

my  heart  from  breaking.  I  could  not  picture 
Europe,  because  I  have  never  seen  one  of  its 
countries,  but  I  could  see  you  in  a  strange  land 
— looking  homeward,  and  yet  not  knowing  why 
you  wished  to  return.  It  was  not  vanity,  but 
my  heart,  that  told  me  you  were  unhappy,  that 
history,  antiquity,  meant  nothing  to  you." 

"  Your  heart  spoke  the  truth.  There  is  no 
way  that  I  can  hide  the  truth  from  you.  My  very 
silence  shouts  it." 

He  seized  my  hand  and  bent  over  it,  kissed  it ; 
and  when  he  looked  up,  his  eyes  were  stricken 
with  tears.  "  You  are  not  going  home  now,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  going  down  to  the  city  to  dine 
with  me." 

I  bowed  my  head. 


370 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

OUT  OF  THE  MILLION  NIGHTS,  ONE  WAS  HIS. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  consented  to  go 
with  him.  As  long  as  the  sun's  rays  fell  about 
me  I  said  no,  persuading  him  not  to  persuade 
me ;  but  when  the  twilight  came  and  the  shadows 
lay  upon  the  sward,  I  arose,  with  him  tightly 
gripping  my  arm,  and  went  with  him.  Not  out 
of  rebellious  mood  but  out  of  hunger  for  his 
sympathy  was  I  induced  to  bend  myself  to  his 
will.  But  was  I  not  bending  myself  to  my  own 
will? 

"  Shall  we  go  to  our  old  restaurant?"  I  asked 
as  we  were  rumbling  along  on  a  grip  car. 

"  It  is  no  longer  our  old  place,"  he  replied.  "It 
has  been  changed  about.  The  warm  cherry 
wood  has  been  replaced  with  cold  marble.  Let 
us  wander  about  and  by  chance  find  some  new 
place." 

He  was  holding  my  hand.  I  did  not  resist 
him  now.  The  warm  currents  of  our  hearts 

371 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

were  mingling,  in  one  emotional  stream.  Few 
were  the  words  that  we  spoke.  It  was  a  time 
for  silence,  for  a  hypnotized  musing  upon  self. 
All  of  the  past  was  mellowed  and  there  was  no 
future.  Love  legitimatized  lawlessness.  There 
was  no  lawlessness,  for  graceful  nature  walked 
forth,  free  from  conventional  skirts.  I  felt  as  if 
having  drunk  a  hot  cordial,  it  was  bubbling  in 
my  blood.  I  should  have  been  happy  had  I 
known  that  death  awaited  us  at  the  end  of  the 
ride.  There  are  times  when  one  is  thankful  for 
a  minute,  when  beyond  a  minute  there  lies  not 
repentance — only  nothing. 

We  got  off  the  car  and  wandered  about,  seeing 
not  but  feeling  everything,  the  delicious  currents 
of  air,  cool  from  the  lake.    There  was  music  in 
even  the  sharp  cry  of  the  newsboy.    Nature  and 
all  the  material  world  had  been  transformed. 
"  You  look  sad,"  said  Edward. 
"  But  I  am  happy — in  a  dream." 
"  Then  dream  on,  for  life  is  only  a  dream." 
"  The  wise  have  said  so.    But  perhaps  we  are 
awake  a  part  of  the  time ;  and  then  we  are  unhap- 
py."   Suddenly  I  was  seized  with  a  fear  of  the 

372 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

dawn.  "  Suppose  some  one  should  see  us — some 
one  that  knows." 

"  In  this  beehive  ?    It  is  not  likely." 

A  slight  fear  of  the  future  may  sweeten  the 
present.  We  walked  aimlessly,  turning  from  one 
street  into  another. 

"  Shall  we  go  in  here?  "  he  asked,  and  I  looked 
up.  It  was  the  restaurant  to  which  Nevum  had 
taken  me,  where  the  foreigners  had  stared  at 
me.  I  drew  back.  "  Come  on,"  he  urged. 

Elevators  were  taking  guests  to  the  private 
rooms  above.  But  now  I  did  not  refuse  the  se- 
clusion, the  rooms  that  looked  so  darkly  shaded 
when  viewed  from  the  street.  Gently  he  touched 
my  arm  and  I  stepped  into  the  elevator.  We 
were  shown  into  a  small  dining  room  on  the  third 
floor.  The  waiter  turned  on  an  electric  light  and 
left  us  alone.  Edward  stood  looking  at  me. 

"  Alone  and  almost  for  the  first  time,"  he  said. 

"  It  ought  not  to  be,"  I  weakly  protested.  "  It 
is  not  right.  Let  us  go  below." 

"  No,  sit  down." 

The  waiter  knocked  on  the  door  and  entered. 
He  placed  a  bill  of  fare  on  the  table  and  was 
about  to  withdraw  again  and  when  Edward  re- 

373 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

marked  that  we  would  give  our  orders.  It  did 
not  take  long  to  decide  as  to  what  we  wanted. 
The  mystery,  the  cat-like  walk  of  every  one 
alarmed  me,  and  I  did  not  know  what  was  to  be 
brought.  We  sat  down..  Edward  reached  over 
to  take  my  hand. 

"  No,"  I  said.  "  The  waiter  will  be  back  again 
in  a  moment." 

"  But  he  will  knock  before  entering." 

"  And  enter  the  moment  he  knocks." 

I  leaned  my  elbows  upon  the  table,  with  my 
chin  in  my  hands.  He  smiled  at  me. 

"  Ah,  you  think  you  are  now  beyond  my 
reach,"  he  said.  "  But  you  aren't,  for  we  are — 
alone.  There  is  no  world  except  the  one  here, 
within  our  reach.  The  other  world  is  dead." 

"  No,  it  is  merely  asleep  and  will  awake  with  a 
loud  roar,"  I  replied. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  So  far  as  we  now  must 
know,  it  is  never  to  awake."  He  gazed  at  me, 
into  my  eyes;  and  from  his  eyes  there  was  that 
same  warm  pour  of  something. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  work,"  I  said.  "  Do  you 
like  it?" 

374 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Under  certain  conditions  it  would  be  a  de- 
light, but  without  you  all  is  drudgery." 

"  But  you  can't  have  me.  That  was  settled 
nearly  three  years  ago." 

"  So  far  as  the  law  understood  it,  yes ;  but 
there  is  a  higher  law." 

"  That  higher  law  may  do  for  the  life  to  come. 
It  is  not  in  force  here." 

"  Yes,  in  force  here — now.  Under  that  higher 
law  I  love  you,  and  from  the  decision  of  the 
heart,  the  judge  of  the  higher  law,  there  is  no 
appeal." 

"  Once  you  spoke  of  the  fever  that  was  on  you. 
Hasn't  it  begun  to  pass  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  stronger  than  ever 
before.  It  is  incurable.  I " 

The  waiter  knocked  and  came  in  with  plates, 
bread  and  water.  Edward  gave  him  a  piece  of 
silver  and  he  walked  even  lighter  and  more  cat- 
like than  before.  He  bowed  low  as  he  withdrew. 

"  You  were  saying  something  when  he  inter- 
rupted you,"  said  I.  My  heart  was  hungry  for 
his  words. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  say,  have  begun  to  say  so 
much  and  have  been  so  unable  to  finish  it  that  I 

375 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

don't  know  where  I  was  when  he  interrupted." 

"  We  were  speaking  of  your  fever.  You  said 
that  it  was  incurable." 

"  Yes,  and  it  is.  It  is  beyond  all  reach  of  medi- 
cine. I  was  out  in  Kansas  in  a  drouth  and  was 
hotter,  more  burning  than  the  drouth  itself.  My 
fever  took  me  out  of  bed  in  the  early  morning, 
and  I  went  forth  to  turn  the  dewy  dawn  into 
scorching  noon." 

"  Don't  go  beyond  the  truth." 

"  When  the  truth  is  an  extreme,  there  is  no 
going  beyond  it.  Out  there  I  suffered,  and  with 
only  one  consolation — a  narrow  and  selfish  one, 
that  you  were  miserable.  For  the  first  time  I 
looked  for  European  date  lines  in  the  newspapers. 
In  my  mind  I  traveled  through  the  different  coun- 
tries as  well  as  ignorance  could,  gazed  at  pic- 
tures of  the  Nile ;  but  only  once  did  I  find  a  kin- 
dred paragraph — once  when  I  found  that  he  had 
gone  to  Rome,  to  study.  Then  I  lived  in  Rome. 
I  bought  stereoscopic  views  of  the  Vatican  and 
studied  in  detail  the  rooms  of  that  great  store- 
house of  the  church,  for  I  knew  that  you  would 
go  there." 

"Yes,  I  went  there  many  a  time,  and  once  I 

376 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

found  a  portrait  that  looked  like  you  and " 

"  And  you  fled  from  it." 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  My  hands  were 
clasped  upon  the  table  and  he  put  his  hand  on 
them  and  held  them  fast.  "  You  fled  from  it 
because  you  wanted  to  forget  me.  But  you 
couldn't.  And  why?  Because  nature  did  not 
intend  that  you  should.  You  belong  to  me." 

He  moved  closer  to  me.  He  bowed  his  head 
over  my  hands — kissed  them;  and  I  begged  him 
not  to,  but  he  did,  time  and  again.  The  waiter 
knocked  and  came  in  with  the  food. 

"  You  must  be  rational  now,"  I  said  when  the 
waiter  had  gone  out. 

"  I  am  always  as  rational  as  the  past  and  the 
present  will  permit.  Perhaps  you  can  make  me 
so  by  telling  me  of  your  travels." 

"  I  had  no  travels.    I  was  walking  in  my  sleep." 

"  Then  you  dreamed." 

"  No,  it  was  not  even  vivid  enough  for  a 
dream.  TEe  Nile  arose  and  overflowed  its  own 
history,  leaving  upon  it  a  sediment  of  new  earth." 

"  You  saw  Paris." 

"  I  saw  gowns,  hats — and  heard  the  faint  echo 
of  an  opera.  With  the  heart  left  behind  there  is 

377 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

no  travel — only  a  sleep-walk.  But  tell  me,  wasn't 
there  a  time  when  you  felt  bitter  toward  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  as  if  wondering,  slowly 
shaking  his  head.  "  I  plucked  out  the  spear  that 
was  thrust  into  my  bosom  and — kissed  it." 

"  Oh,  don't — don't  talk  that  way.  You  are 
throwing  spears  at  my  heart.  Reproach  me  if  you 
will,  but  don't  talk  that  way." 

"  Reproach  you  ?  It  is  not  in  my  nature.  You 
might  set  your  foot  on  my  heart  and  yet  would  it 
breathe  love." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  a  human  being  could  be 
so  forgiving." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  love  is  of  itself  a  continuous 
forgiveness." 

"  Sometimes  it  is  a  continuous  suffering,"  I 
replied. 

"  But  should  not  be  when  love  knows  that  it  is 
loved." 

Closer  he  moved  toward  me.  He  took  both  of 
my  hands  in  one  of  his;  he  put  his  arm  about 
me,  and  I  struggled  to  draw  away  from  him,  but 
he  held  me,  pouring  out  a  volume  of  passionate 
words.  He  pressed  my  head  against  his  bosom; 
he  kissed  my  hair,  my  lips,  my  neck;  and  almost 

378 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

in  a  swoon  I  lay  in  his  arms.  Suddenly  the 
blighting  present  rushed  upon  me,  and,  strug- 
gling free  from  him,  I  seized  my  hat,  vowed  that 
I  must  go  home.  But  he  caught  me  in  his  arms, 
kissed  me  passionately  and  held  me  back  from 
my  weak  purpose. 

"  Out  of  the  thousand,  the  million  of  nights 
that  have  been,  and  out  of  the  millions  that  are 
to  be,  precious,  there  is  one  night  that  belongs 
to  me — to  my  soul — this  night." 

Nowhere  was  there  a  sound  save  his  voice,  low 
and  desperately  sweet.  Yes,  one  other  sound, 
the  cry  arising  from  my  own  heart — and  about 
his  neck  he  folded  my  willing  arms;  and  all  of 
the  world  and  all  of  the  ages  that  had  passed — 
all  of  the  love  of  man  and  woman — all  was  a 
vital  present,  all  an  illumined  now. 


379 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THAT  OLD  PICTURE  AGAIN. 

Repentance  is  the  sorrowful  food  of  the  soul. 
But  there  may  be  a  half  repentance.  It  is  when 
the  soul  feeds  reluctantly  upon  sorrow  and  the 
heart  gladly  sips  the  nectar  of  remembered  love. 
For  days  I  sat  about,  unable  to  read,  unable  to 
think,  dreaming,  wondering  at  myself,  as  I  have 
fancied  a  contemplative  infant  must  speculate  at 
its  own  mysterious  existence.  There  came  a  brief 
note  from  Bayless,  but  I  did  not  answer  it. 
Shortly  afterward,  by  appointment,  I  met  Ed- 
ward again.  It  was  in  the  evening,  at  the  res- 
taurant. He  said  that  I  looked  sad.  Sight  ob- 
scures a  memory  as  too  much  scenery  in  the  the- 
atre blunts  the  imagination;  and  perhaps,  upon 
seeing  him,  repentance  arose  for  the  moment  as 
the  dominant  feeling  within  me.  But  from  the 
street,  from  all  of  the  outer  air  of  the  world,  there 
came  that  same  music.  I  was  loved,  and  life  was 
a  melody. 

380 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Late  in  the  night  he  parted  from  me  at  my 
door.  The  lights  were  dim,  and  he  stood  with 
his  arm  about  me.  He  had  told  me  that  he  was 
going  to  Kansas  on  business,  to  be  away  a  month. 
A  month !  What  a  desert  of  time.  Had  he  said 
a  century  it  would  not  have  fallen  heavier  upon 
me.  He  said  that  I  must  be  brave.  I  told  him 
that  I  should  be.  And  I  was. 

Two  days  later  Bayless  returned,  in  the  even- 
ing. I  met  him  at  dinner,  and  we  talked,  each 
striving  to  please  and  placate  the  other,  it  seemed. 
After  dinner  he  went  into  the  library.  I  did  not 
at  once  follow  him.  I  went  to  my  own  room,  to 
think;  and  when  I  had  thought,  for  a  long  time, 
I  entered  the  library.  He  looked  up  with  re- 
proach in  his  eyes.  He  had  talked  to  me,  had 
done  his  duty,  and  now  why  should  he  be  dis- 
turbed in  his  study? 

"  I  thought  you  had  taken  out  all  the  books  you 
care  to  read,"  he  said. 

"  I  haven't  come  for  a  book,"  I  replied,  stand- 
ing near  his  chair,  looking  at  him.  His  eyes 
seemed  to  say,  "  Then  what  can  you  want  ?  "  but 
his  lips  spoke  the  words,  "  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you." 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"Well?" 

"  Mr.  Bayless,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  live  in 
the  same  house." 

He  frowned  at  me.  •  "  What  rot  is  this?  " 
'  The  rottenness  of  truth.     I  shall  leave  your 
house  tonight." 

He  shoved  back  his  chair.  "  Now  who  has 
been  telling  you  tales?  Has  some  meddlesome 
wretch  sent  you  an  anonymous  letter?  It  is  not 
true.  I  can  prove  it.  But  of  course  you  pin  your 
faith  to  a  conspiracy  against  me.  Leave  this 
house  and  foist  a  scandal?  You  shall  not." 

A  light  began  to  shine  on  me,  but  to  it  I  shut 
my  eyes.  "  I  must  leave  this  house  tonight,  never 
to  enter  it  again." 

"  But  it  will  ruin  me.  You  don't  want  to  do 
that,  do  you  ?  Didn't  I  come  home  in  good  humor 
with  you?  Hadn't  I  resolved  on  my  way  home 
that  we  were  to  get  along  better?  Hadn't  I 
planned  that  you  should  go  to  Duluth  with  me? 
And  now  you  threaten  to  desert  me.  I  know 
that  we  have  not  lived  happily  together;  I  know 
that  you  have  not  cared  for  my  society;  I  know 
that  you  would  rather  be  alone.  But  if  you  leave 
me  now  I  shall  be  ruined.  You  must  pay  no 

382 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

attention  to  evil  tongues.  A  letter  that  bears  no 
name  should  not  be  considered.  Sit  down  and 
let  us  talk  of  our  plans." 

"  I  can  tell  you  of  my  plans  standing  here. 
They  are  simple.  Our  paths  diverge." 

"  Gypsy,  that  is  utter  nonsense.  Do  you  re- 
member the  picture  I  spoke  of,  a  long  time  ago 
— of  the  Venetian  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  it  has  been  a  long  time,  but  you 
have  never  shown  it  to  me.  I  wouldn't  ask  about 
it  when  we  returned  from  abroad,  but  I  looked  for 
it,  on  the  walls — everywhere,  but  couldn't  find  it. 
I  don't  care  to  see  it  now." 

"  But  you  must,"  he  cried,  bounding  out  of  his 
chair.  "  I  have  it  here."  He  unlocked  a  drawer 
of  a  bookcase  and  took  out  an  etching.  "  See,  it 
is  your  image,"  he  said,  holding  up  the  picture 
beneath  the  light.  "  Your  mouth,  your  hair.  In 
an  evil  hour,  an  hour  of  misunderstanding,  I  took 
it  down  and  hid  it  away,  but  I  will  hang  it  here 
— where  I  can  see  it." 

I  took  the  picture  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 
The  frail  frame  broke.  The  pieces  flew  about 
his  chair.  The  picture  curled  up,  like  a  scroll. 
He  sat  down.  His  old-time  smile  came  back  to 

383 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

him.  "  My  little  girl  has  a  temper,"  he  said. 
"  But  come,  sit  here  on  the  arm  of  my  chair." 

"  It  is  too  late,  Mr.  Bayless.  Since  your  return 
I  have  not  even  touched  your  hand.  Had  you 
noticed  it?  " 

"  Yes  and  I  suspected  why." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you  have  suspected.  If  you 
did,  you  might  not  be  so  calm." 

"  Gypsy,  let  me  see  the  letter.  Let  me  swear  to 
you  that  it  is  false.  Together  let  us  burn  it  up 
and  begin  a  new  life." 

"  I  may  begin  a  new  life,  but  not  with  you." 

"  Are  you  so  unforgiving?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  forgive  you  everything." 

"  Then  come  and  sit  here  with  me." 

"  No,  fo%r  you  have  not  forgiven." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  have.  I  forgive  everything.  And 
I  promise  you  never  to  speak  to  that  woman 
again.  There  was  nothing  wrong — I  swear  it. 
Give  me  the  letter,  please." 

"  There  is  no  letter." 

"  No  letter?  Hasn't  some  one  written  to  you?  " 

"  No  one  has  written." 

"  Then  you  have  heard  something." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing." 

384 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Then  what  have  you  been  trying  to  do  with 
me  ?  Then  why  do  you  suspect  me  ?  It  was  un- 
worthy of  you,  this  role  of  detective.  But  I  for- 
give even  that.  Sit  down." 

"  Never  again  in  this  house.  You  have  ac- 
cused yourself.  I  have  not  accused  you.  I  am 
here  to  accuse  myself." 

"  No  foolishness,  Gypsy.    Let  us  quit  it." 

"  Do  you  understand  what  I  mean  by  accusing 
myself?" 

"  Oh,  none  of  that,  please.  Accuse  yourself 
of  what?" 

"  Infidelity." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I  have  been  untrue  to  you." 

He  got  up,  he  came  to  me,  put  his  hands  on 
my  shoulders,  gripped  me  hard.  '  What  is  that? 
I  don't  understand.  Untrue  to  me?  Tell  me 
what  you  mean." 

"  I  am  no  longer  your  wife.  I  am  a  man's 
mistress." 

With  a  cry  of  rage  he  shoved  me  from  him, 
back  against  the  wall.  Like  a  beast,  a  tiger  he 
leaped  upon  me — seized  me  about  the  neck. 

385 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  His  name — give  it,  or  I  will  choke  you  to 
death!" 

I  did  not  resist  him.  He  hurled  me  to  one 
side  and  I  fell  upon  the  floor.  He  sprang  at 
me  again,  but  faltered  as  his  hands  were  at  my 
throat.  He  suffered  me  to  arise.  "  By  God,  I 
will  murder  you  unless  you  tell  me  his  name ! " 

I  moved  from  him.  Slowly  he  followed  me, 
repeating  his  threat.  "  You  spoke  of  scandal," 
said  I,  as  calm  as  if  he  had  not  choked  me.  "  Be 
quieter  or  it  might  even  now  come  upon  your 
house.  I  will  not  tell  you  his  name.  If  you  will 
let  me  pass  out  I  will  bid  you  good  night." 

He  stood  gazing  at  me. 

"Will  you  let  me  go?"  He  said  nothing, 
standing  between  me  and  the  door.  "  Then  I 
shall  break  through  the  window.  No,  I  will  stay 
a  moment  longer.  You  have  been  untrue,  have 
been  caught  by  some  one,  and  that  is  the  reason 
you  thought  you  were  willing  to  forgive  me. 
But  it  was  not  out  of  revenge  that  I — trailed 
your  name  in  the  dust.  I  didn't  know  of  your 
unfaithfulness;  I  didn't  care.  You  are  afraid 
of  scandal.  Perhaps  I  am  not.  In  this  town 
there  is  a  door  that  is  ever  swinging.  It  is  the 

386 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

door  of  the  divorce  court.  It  is  open  for  you.  I 
grant  you  your  freedom.  I  shall  remain  mute." 

He  gazed  at  me.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  .say 
to  you,"  he  said. 

'  Yes,  you  do,  but  you  are  afraid  to  say  it. 
You  would  like  to  say  that  you  thank  me — for 
promising  to  be  mute." 

''  When  did  this  happen?"  he  inquired,  calmer, 
breathing  easier. 

"  That  is  of  no  consequence.    May  I  go  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  name  of  the  man." 

"  Then  why  did  you  choke  me  ?    May  I  go  ?  " 

He  moved  slowly  from  between  me  and  the 
door.  When  I  reached  the  door  he  inquired: 
:<  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  That's  of  no  consequence,  either.  Tomorrow 
I  will  send  for  what  few  things  I  possess." 

"  But  how  are  you  to  live  ?  " 

"  By  work." 

"  No,  you  must  not  go  around  looking  for 
work — under  my  name." 

"  I  shall  take  another  name." 

This  relieved  him.  He  sighed  as  if  he  had 
put  down  a  burden  at  the  top  of  a  hill.  I  went 
out  of  the  room,  out  into  the  street. 

387 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  OCEAN  FULL  OF  WRECKS. 

From  the  west  the  warm  wind  came,  grateful 
to  my  cheeks  which  now  seemed  freezing. 

Edward,  who  had  bade  me  to  be  brave,  had 
doubtless  not  surmised  that  going  far  beyond  the 
boundary  line  of  courage  I  should  be  desperate, 
that  I  should  cast  myself  into  the  pitiless  sea  of 
self-confessing  infidelity.  But  ah,  this  ocean, 
swarming  full  of  dismal  wrecks  of  barks  once 
freighted  with  promises  and  happiness,  of  treas- 
ures lying  at  the  purple  rainbow's  end,  were  as 
hopeful  sails  compared  with  the  shattered  junk 
from  which  I  had  just  cast  myself. 

I  went  to  a  small  hotel  not  far  away  and  reg- 
istered under  my  old  name.  Early  on  the  follow- 
ing morning  I  sent  for  my  trunk,  and  when  it 
came,  I  asked  the  expressman  if  he  had  brought 
a  note  for  me,  and  he  answered  that  he  had  not. 
Had  I  been  foolish  enough  to  expect  that  Bayless 
would  send  a  word  of  regret  ?  Now  strong  upon 

388 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

me  came  the  desire  for  morphine,  and  I  took  it, 
and  throughout  the  day  I  dreamed,  not  of  any 
happiness  to  come,  but  of  objects  about  me,  the 
wall  paper,  the  dingy  wardrobe,  the  wash-stand, 
anything — turning  each  article  into  a  subject  for 
study.  The  night  that  followed  was  long  but  not 
tiresome;  I  slept  but  little  until  toward  dawn  and 
then  I  sank  into  profound  nothingness.  In  the 
afternoon  I  went  down  to  the  real  estate  office 
where  once  I  was  almost  a  favorite.  The  place 
had  changed,  the  suburban  town  had  been  built, 
and  the  force  in  the  land  department  was  much 
reduced.  But  Roland  was  there.  He  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  me.  "  They  marry  and  after  a  while 
some  of  them  return,"  he  said,  smiling.  He 
thought  that  he  could  give  me  work.  And,  so, 
the  next  day,  I  set  out  again  on  my  abandoned 
career  as  stenographer.  There  had  been  not  only 
changes  in  the  office,  the  world,  but  in  myself. 
I  had  almost  forgotten  my  trade.  I  had  to  guess 
at  much  of  the  dictation  and  my  mind  was  not 
so  grasping  as  it  had  been.  But  Roland  was 
patient.  He  said  that  it  would  all  come  back  to 
me  within  a  day  or  two. 

I  did  not  know  Edward's  address.    He  would 

389 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

not  direct  a  letter  to  my  husband's  house,  and  so  I 
must  wait  a  month,  until  his  return  from  Kansas. 
In  the  night  I  studied  my  old  books,  striving  to 
overtake  my  former  self,  but  the  effort  made  my 
head  ache  and  my  system  demanded  the  drug, 
but  I  used  it  sparingly  and  believed  that  I  was 
about  to  conquer  the  evil. 

Not  more  than  a  week  had  passed  before  I  re- 
ceived notice  that  Bayless  had  filed  a  bill  for 
divorce.  A  newspaper  reporter  first  brought  the 
information.  He  said  that  it  had  been  hard 
work  to  "  locate  "  me.  I  said  as  little  as  I  pos- 
sibly could.  "  We  have  simply  found  that  we 
cannot  live  together,"  said  I.  "  Our  tempera- 
ments are  at  war." 

"  Then  there  was  —  I  beg  pardon,  but  there 
has  been  no  man  in  the  case." 

"Only  such  men  and  such  women  as  Mr.  Bay- 
less  may  name." 

"  He  charges  infidelity." 

"  On  his  part  or  mine?  " 

The  reporter  smiled.  "  It  is  not  likely  that  he 
would  charge  it  on  his  part." 

"  Not  very,"  I  admitted.     "  Who  is   named 


390 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  As  corespondent  ?  Edward  Somers.  Have 
you  anything  to  say  with  regard  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Bayless  has  said  all  that  is 
necessary.  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Bayless?" 

"  Yes.    He  doesn't  say  much  of  anything." 

'  Then  please  say  in  your  report  that  I  don't 
say  much  of  anything." 

He  went  away,  smiling.  Roland  asked  me 
concerning  him.  I  gave  my  story  as  well  as  I 
could  or  as  I  thought  advisable.  I  asked  if  the 
divorce  suit  would  endanger  my  position.  He 
said  no,  but  that  I  must  relieve  my  mind  of  it  and 
give  more  of  myself  to  my  work.  This  was  a 
hint  that  my  improvement  had  not  come  up  to 
expectation. 

The  reporter's  "  story  "  was  devoted  mainly  to 
my  "  beauty."  I  had  been  a  society  belle.  In 
Europe  I  had  attracted  the  attention  of  crowned 
heads.  In  Rome  the  artists  had  raved  over  me. 
Edward  Somers  was  one  of  the  most  promising 
of  the  young  lawyers  of  the  city.  While  he  was 
yet  poor  and  unknown,  Bayless  had  taken  him  to 
his  house.  It  was  there  that  he  first  met  the 
"  beautiful  and  accomplished "  Mrs.  Bayless. 
For  a  time  the  husband  suspected  nothing.  He 

391 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

was  a  busy  man,  devoted  to  his  profession.  But 
after  the  lawyer  had  left  the  house,  when  in  fact 
he  had  become  prosperous,  the  architect  dis- 
covered the  attachment  and  suspected  the  rela- 
tionship. He  charged  his  wife  with  unfaithful- 
ness and  she  did  not  deny  it. 

This  made  me  furiously  angry.  I  spent  an 
evening  in  writing  a  correction,  tearing  up  and 
writing  again ;  but  from  the  kettle  of  my  boiling 
anger  my  words  came  forth  as  steam,  fading  as 
they  arose,  until  they  were  nothing  in  the  air. 
So  I  sent  no  correction.  The  next  day  Roland 
told  me  that  my  services  were  no  longer  required. 
The  slowness  of  business  had  rendered  it  neces- 
sary to  reduce  the  force.  I  had  expected  it  and 
was  not  surprised.  That  night  a  lawyer  called 
on  me  at  the  hotel.  Suddenly  at  this  obscure 
place  I  had  become  the  "  show  boarder."  The 
women  stared  at  me.  The  men  whispered.  I 
received  the  lawyer  in  the  parlor.  "  You  are  go- 
ing to  fight  that  divorce,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  not." 

"  But  you  ought  to.    It  is  your  duty  to  society." 

"Why  so?" 

"  I  will  expjain.     My  office  is  just  across  the 

392 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

hall  from  the  office  of  the  lawyer  engaged  by  Mr. 
Bayless.  We  are  on  good  terms.  And  it  is 
known  among  all  of  us  there  that  Bayless  and 
that  Cretchmar  woman " 

"  I  don't  wish  to  hear  anything  about  it." 

"  But  as  I  say,  it  is  your  duty — to  yourself,  if 
not  to  society.  The  decree  will  be  granted  and 
you  will  be  forced  to  bear  the  odium.  His  con- 
duct with  that  woman  was  notorious." 

"  But  I  don't  wish  to  obstruct  the  granting  of 
the  decree.  I  want  it  granted.  I  want  to  be 
free." 

He  stared  at  me.  "  Ah,  and  are  you  quite  sure 
that  at  this  moment  you  are  in  full  possession  of 
all  of  your  faculties  ?  Grief  seems  to  have  unset- 
tled your  mind.  You  speak  of  obstructing — you 
use  words  almost  foreign  to  a  young  woman. 
Now,  I  will  go  into  court " 

"  Not  in  my  behalf,"  I  interrupted. 

He  urged  me,  but  I  was  firm. 

It  was  cowardly  of  Bayless,  but  in  his  rela- 
tionship with  woman  has  not  man  nearly  always 
been  cowardly?  Man's  history  begins  with 
cowardice.  The  woman  tempted  him  and  he  did 
eat.  But  would  Edward  be  cowardly?  In  my 

393 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

mind  I  could  see  him  with  the  newspaper  in  his 
hand,  horror-struck  with  the  lie.  I  could  see  him 
speeding  to  me,  to  console  and  shield  me — with 
his  name  and  his  love.  But  the  days  passed  and 
he  did  not  come.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had 
not  heard,  had  not  seen  the  infamous  story?  Ah, 
there  are  so  many  groans  issuing  from  the  great, 
troubled  bosom  of  this  town!  Perhaps  he  had 
not  heard. 

The  decree  was  granted.  I  searched  out  the 
number  of  Edward's  office,  and  twice  I  called, 
but  he  had  not  returned.  I  went  to  the  post 
office  and  called  for  letters,  at  the  general  deliv- 
ery window — Mrs.  Bayless,  Miss  Gipsy  Daw- 
son,  Elinor  Dawson,  but  there  was  nothing  for 
me.  Late  one  afternoon  I  called  again  at  the 
office,  in  an  old  building  in  LaSalle  Street,  near 
Washington.  He  was  there.  Upon  seeing  me  he 
started  out  of  his  chair.  He  looked  about.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  room.  I  held  out  my 
hands,  with  my  head  bowed.  He  took  my  hands, 
but  in  his  touch  there  was  no  fire. 

"  Edward,  I  am  free.  You  said  you  could  not 
live  without  me.  You  now  see  that  I  cannot  live 
without  you." 

394 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Be  careful,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  how  to  be  careful.  That 
newspaper  story  was  a  lie.  I  told  the  man  noth- 
ing." 

"  Ah,  but  you  told  Bayless  something.  You 
ought  not  to  have  done  that.  You  ruined  me." 

"  But  Edward,  can  there  be  any  ruin  as  long 
as  we  love  each  other  ?  Let  us  go  away — far  off 
somewhere,  and " 

"  I  have  no  money.  How  can  I  go  anywhere  ?  " 

"  But  Edward,  love  may  walk." 

He  shook  his  head.  I  felt  the  tears  gushing 
out  of  my  eyes;  and  now  I  could  not  see  him; 
I  called  him,  with  my  hands  held  out  again,  but 
he  did  not  answer  me.  I  ran  to  the  door.  He 
was  stealing  away,  down  the  hall.  I  shouted  at 
him,  I  ran  to  the  stairs — and  this  was  all  I  re- 
member. I  awoke  in  my  wretched  room.  A  phy- 
sician and  a  nurse  were  with  me.  The  first  word 
that  came  indignant  to  my  lips  was  "  coward." 
I  was  thinking  of  Edward.  Into  my  arm  the 
physician  injected  something  and  I  slept. 


395 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  HAG  AND  THE  DOG. 

In  the  bitterness  of  my  soul  I  cursed  him,  the 
weakling,  the  liar,  the  jelly  fish.  And  this  very 
excess  of  bitterness  hardened  me  and  seemed  to 
strengthen  my  heart.  I  would  live  to  be  avenged 
upon  him.  Toward  Bayless  I  felt  nothing  but 
contempt,  but  toward  the  man  to  whom  I  had 
given  my  very  soul  there  arose  a  murderous 
hatred.  The  youth  of  love  is  strong,  but  the 
hatred  that  comes  as  the  old  age  of  abandoned 
love  is  stronger  still,  I  mused  as  I  lay  in  bed, 
longing  for  health,  not  that  I  might  do  good,  but 
evil. 

Soon  I  was  out  a^ain,  and  when  I  was  well 
able  to  walk  I  went  forth  with  one  idea  in  my 
poor,  distracted  head.  It  was  vengeance.  On 
the  car  I  wandered  if  the  passengers  could  read 
my  purpose  in  my  face.  The  newsboys  were  cry- 
ing the  early  editions  of  the  afternoon  papers, 
and  I  mused,  "  Ah,  soon  you  will  have  need  of 

396 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

another  edition,  with  headlines  not  in  black  but 
red."  The  day  was  hot,  but  I  wore  a  cloak  and 
beneath  it  I  carried  something — a  knife.  Upon 
getting  off  the  car  I  went  straightway  toward 
Edward's  office.  Weak  and  almost  fainting,  I 
restrained  myself  from  my  impulse  to  run  to  the 
place.  His  office  was  on  the  second  floor.  I  did 
not  take  the  elevator.  It  was  old  and  seemed  too 
slow  for  my  purpose.  I  may  have  crept  up  the 
stairs,  but  I  fancied  that  I  was  swift.  Along  the 
hall  I  ran,  faster,  I  thought,  than  in  his  cowardice 
he  had  fled  from  me.  I  seized  the  door  knob. 
The  door  was  locked.  I  beat  upon  it.  Then  and 
not  until  then  did  I  see  the  "  for  rent "  sign.  The 
wretch  had  fled. 

Now  what  spirit  force  was  there  to  keep  me 
alive?  And,  upon  what  physical  resources  could 
I  draw?  I  had  but  a  small  amount  of  money, 
and  in  order  to  live,  in  the  vague  hope  of  ultimate 
revenge,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  have  em- 
ployment. So,  returning  home  I  again  took  up 
my  old  book.  That  evening  the  newspapers  con- 
tained a  paragraph  that  had  the  shadow  of  inter- 
est for  me.  Bayless  had  disposed  of  his  Chicago 
belongings  and  had  departed  for  Rome. 

397 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

A  few  days  later  I  succeeded  in  finding  work 
in  a  South  Water  street  provision  house.    It  was 
hard  and  not  well  paid,  but  it  was  something; 
and,  with  the  aid  of  the  now  indispensable  drug, 
taken  moderately,  I  gave  a  sort  of  satisfaction — 
for  a  month,  and  then,  having  taken  too  much  of 
the  poison,  I  was  charged  with  drunkenness  and 
dismissed.     Morphine  demands  alcohol.     Nearly 
all  of  the  slaves  of  one  are  chained  by  the  other. 
Now  began  a  desperate  fight.     For  two  days  I 
struggled.     And  here,  struggle  is  not  merely  a 
word.    I  felt  as  if  I  were  contending  against  some 
great  and  overpowering  strength.    My  hair  was 
wet  with  cold  perspiration.     My  heart  fluttered. 
Every  nerve  shrieked  for  the  drug.    I  could  hear 
these  shrieks.     They  startled   my   own   moping 
blood.    They  frightened  my  soul.    Unable  longer 
to  endure  the  agony  and  the  terror,  I  went  to  a 
drug  store  and  asked  for  morphine.     I  was  re- 
fused.   To  numerous  places  I  went,  but  was  told 
that  I  could  have  none.    Then  I  bought  whisky. 
But  this  alone  would  not  serve.    It  sickened  me. 
I  threw  the  bottle  out  of  the  window.    Then  came 
the  minions  of  hell  to  afright  me.  In  wide  wake- 
fulness  I  saw  an  inferno  that  would  have  driven 

398 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

the  poet  from  his  purpose.  Through  the  window 
there  came  an  old  and  toothless  hag.  She  mum- 
bled a  curse  above  my  head,  bending  over  me, 
breathing  fetid  air  down  into  my  face.  I  tried 
to  spring  out  upon  the  floor,  but  she  held  me 
fast,  and  with  a  rope  covered  with  frost  she  bound 
my  ankles  and  my  hands.  Going  then  to  the 
window  she  whistled.  Into  the  room  leaped  a 
lank  and  hungry  dog.  Starvation  lighted  up  his 
eyes.  The  hag  motioned  toward  me,  and  with 
a  howl  the  dog  sprang  upon  me,  and  from  my 
bones  began  to  tear  the  flesh.  With  gulping 
noise  he  tore  my  breast  away  and  I  saw  him 
swallow  it.  In  awful  agony  I  begged  the 
hag  to  kill  me,  but  beneath  my  nostrils  she  held 
some  sort  of  vivifying  essence  that  I  might  longer 
live  to  see  the  hound  gorge  himself.  My  life  was 
lengthened  after  he  had  feasted  full.  A  skeleton, 
red,  without  an  ounce  of  flesh,  I  was  hauled 
forth  from  the  bed  and  made  to  walk  about,  and 
rattled  as  I  moved.  "  Ah,"  said  the  hag  to  the 
dog,  "  you  have  not  taken  yet  the  dessert,"  and 
the  beast,  understanding,  leaped  upon  me  and 
with  his  long  front  teeth  bit  out  my  eyes.  Then 
all  was  dark,  but  I  could  hear  them,  the  dog's 

399 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

sharp  claws  upon  the  floor.  "  Drag  her  out  to 
pick  her  bones  for  lunch/'  the  old  hag  cried ;  and 
with  that  the  beast  seized  me  to  drag  me  away. 
Then  came  loud  peals  of  thunder,  the  flash  of  a 
light,  the  sounds  of  voices ;  faces  were  above  me. 
My  cries  had  alarmed  the  hotel  and  the  landlord 
had  broken  in  the  door.  The  house  physician 
gave  me  morphine,  and  now  I  slept. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  The  sun  was  blaz- 
ing. I  heard  people  complain  of  the  heat,  but 
sometimes  I  was  freezing.  A  remnant  of  soul 
was  left  within  me,  and  going  out  with  a  purpose 
in  view,  and  with  the  horror  of  the  night  still 
vivid  in  my  mind,  I  was  resolved  to  go  to  church. 
I  had  heard  and  read  of  Dr.  Thomas,  who 
preached  in  McVicker's  theater,  and  thither  I 
went.  For  a  time  the  music  was  soothing,  but  I 
could  make  nothing  of  the  prayer,  it  sounded  so 
far  away;  and  when  the  sermon  was  begun,  the 
name  Jesus  frightened  me.  It  seemed  that  He 
was  my  enemy.  And  then,  looking  about,  I  saw 
that  the  place  was  peopled  not  with  worshipers, 
but  with  hags  that  had  come  to  torture  me.  I  was 
afraid  to  move,  afraid  to  look ;  and  I  sat  with  my 
eyes  closed.  Suddenly  I  heard  the  growl  of  that 

400 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

dog  and  I  started  up.  No,  it  was  the  rumble  of 
the  organ.  I  greatly  desired  to  talk  to  the  good 
man  who  had  preached,  to  tell  him  of  the  trouble 
in  my  soul,  to  acknowledge  that  I  had  sought  to 
commit  murder;  and  when  the  sermon  was  done 
I  went  forward  upon  the  stage.  He  met  me  with 
a  kindly  smile.  I  asked  him  if  there  were  any 
hope  for  me,  and  he  took  my  hand — ah,  and 
started  at  the  coldness  of  it. 

"  You  need  a  physician,"  he  said. 
"  No,  I  want  your  help.    Get  me — get  me  away 
from  myself.     If  you  have  any  power  over  the 
hags  and  that  awful  dog,  keep  them  away  from 
me." 

He  tried  to  reason  with  me.  He  told  me  of 
the  goodness  of  God  and  I  shuddered.  I  replied 
that  God  had  sent  me  word  that  He  was  my 
enemy." 

Then  came  forward  a  woman  with  a  pleasant 
face ;  and  the  Doctor  introduced  me  to  Miss  Net- 
tie Houghton.  The  best  years  of  her  life  had 
been  spent  in  rescuing  women  from  the  slums  and 
in  striving  to  keep  young  girls  from  going  astray. 
In  as  few  words  as  I  could  I  told  her  of  my  con- 
dition, who  I  was  and  all  about  myself;  and  she 

401 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

took  me  by  the  hand  and  said  that  I  must  go  home 
with  her.  She  said  that  neither  the  dog  nor  the 
hag  could  get  into  her  house.  I  went  with  her, 
and  during  the  night  she  sat  by  me,  gave  me 
medicine,  awoke  me  out  of  those  frightful  dreams. 
Early  in  the  morning  a  physician  came,  but  he 
would  not  give  me  morphine ;  so  when  the  chance 
offered  I  ran  away  and  returned  to  my  room  at 
the  hotel.  I  had  paid  for  more  than  a  week  in 
advance,  but  the  proprietor  objected  to  me,  say- 
ing that  I  would  drive  his  other  guests  away. 
"  Not  if  the  doctor  does  his  duty,"  I  replied.  The 
doctor  gave  me  morphine  and  I  slept,  but  I  raved 
again  the  next  morning.  I  was  taken  to  the 
county  hospital.  Here  the  physicians,  accustomed 
to  such  cases,  rendered  me  almost  normal  by  the 
use  of  morphine.  But  soon  it  developed  that  I 
was  afflicted  with  spinal  trouble.  As  the  days 
passed  I  became  weaker.  One  morning  I  heard 
the  doctors  talking  about  me.  It  was  not  imag- 
inary, for  my  mind  was  now  clear — clearer  than 
it  had  been  for  weeks.  One  of  them  said  that 
an  operation  might  possibly  save  my  life.  An- 
other remarked  that  it  was  barely  possible.  Then 
it  was  decided  to  operate  on  me.  Without  any 

402 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ceremonious  delay  I  was  taken  into  the  operating 
room,  but  after  a  thorough  examination  I  was 
told  that  it  would  be  useless  to  operate.  "  You 
are  past  all  help,"  said  the  surgeon.  "  You  would 
surely  die  under  the  knife." 

"  And  is  there  a  chance  that  I  might  get  well 
if  not  operated  on  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  he  replied,  shaking  his 
head.  "  If  you  have  any  relatives  you'd  better 
send  for  them.  You  cannot  live  more  than  a 
week." 

They  took  me  back  and  placed  me  on  a  cot,  to 
die. 


403 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   PASSING   OF   THE   EVIL. 

At  times  my  suffering  was  almost  unbearable. 
Patience  is  not  always  rewarded.  Quiet  pain 
is  passed  without  notice,  but  clamorous  misery 
demands  attention.  They  gave  me  morphine, 
not  perhaps  so  much  out  of  kindness  as  in  a  sort 
of  self  defense.  My  shrieks  were  enough  to  chill 
the  blood  if  not  enough  to  melt  the  heart. 

To  die — the  end.  The  end  of  what?  Of  a 
poor  failure  misdirected  from  the  first  glimpse 
of  life.  But  I  was  not  sorry  to  go,  if  I  could  pass 
on  without  agony — if  they  would  keep  from  me 
that  hag  and  that  gaunt  dog.  Ah,  but  perhaps 
the  hag  and  the  dog  were  minions  of  the  other 
world.  What  if  there  they  should  be  the  first  to 
"  greet  my  stranger  soul?  "  This  thought  terri- 
fied me  and  I  screamed.  A  woman  in  passing 
halted  at  my  cot  and  with  kindly  eyes  looked 
down  upon  me.  I  could  not  recollect  having  seen 
such  a  face.  It  possessed  not  a  mark  of  beauty 

404 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

in  the  physical  sense  and  yet  it  was  radiant  with 
a  beauty  that  proclaimed  the  triumph  of  soul.  I 
requested  her  to  sit  down  for  a  moment  and  she 
did.  In  a  pleasant  and  soothing  voice  she  began 
to  talk  to  me.  At  first  I  paid  no  heed  to  the  mean- 
ing of  her  words;  I  was  lulled  by  the  music  in 
them.  But  after  a  time  the  significance  of  her 
thought  came  into  my  mind.  I  strove  to  repeat 
what  she  said  but  could  not.  There  was  no  mys- 
ticism, nothing  vague — a  strange  new  wisdom, 
though,  and  wisdom  was  foreign  to  my  nature 
and  my  mind.  But  it  was  pleasing  to  listen  and 
I  begged  her  to  continue.  She  was  in  no  haste 
to  leave  me.  She  smiled  upon  my  suffering,  but 
in  her  smile  there  was  beautious  sympathy.  She 
did  not  ask  me  for  my  confidence,  yet  I  told  her 
my  story,  expecting  to  see  her  countenance 
change,  but  it  did  not,  except  to  grow  sweeter 
with  patience  and  compassion.  "  And  oh,  that 
I  might  ask  one  favor  of  you,"  I  said.  "  Soon  I 
am  to  die — and  will  you  sit  near  me,  to  cheer  me 
at  the  last  awful  moment,  to  keep  that  hag  from 
me?" 

She  smiled.    "  There  is  no  hag  and  there  must 
not  be  an  awful  moment." 

405 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  Oh,  you  mean  that  you  will  soothe  the  mo- 
ment and  take  from  it  the  terror  of  death  ?  " 

"  There  must  not  be  death.  You  are  in  the 
thrall  of  mortal  mind.  The  Real  Mind  cannot 
be  ill — cannot  suffer.  There  is  no  evil.  All  is 
good — all  that  is.  That  which  you  think  the 
substance  of  disease  is  but  a  vision  of  evil.  What 
is  the  substance  of  the  tree  ?  Is  it  the  bark  or  the 
branches  or  the  roots?  These  may  be  burned 
and  the  ashes  scattered,  but  the  spirit  that  caused 
the  leaves  to  come  out — that  cannot  be  de- 
stroyed. You  might  cut  down  all  the  trees  and 
there  would  remain  just  as  much  of  that  some- 
thing that  caused  the  tree  to  grow.  Mortal  hands 
cannot  reach  it.  It  flows  from  the  spirit  of  na- 
ture— the  one  mind,  good — God.  You  live  by 
the  spirit  and  -not  by  the  flesh,  but  the  spirit  may 
control  the  flesh,  this  outward  garment.  There 
is  one  great  and  omnipotent  Mind — the  Eternal. 
All  mind  is  a  part  of  that  one  eternal  mind. 
There  are  countless  millions  of  drops  of  water, 
but  all  of  the  drops  combined  compose  water,  the 
sea.  You  must  not  pass  on  now.  In  this  present 
form  of  life  there  is  work  for  you  to  do.  You 
have  not  yet  lived.  Your  existence  has  been  a 

406 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

struggle  with  mortal  mind.  Your  freedom  is 
registered — was  registered  by  Christ,  the  Scien- 
tist. You  have  only  to  accept  Him,  not  as  a  mere 
name,  but  as  a  reality.  He  is  the  great  healer  of 
all  ills.  The  soul — divine  mind — is  the  only  sub- 
stance. All  else  are  but  shadows.  They  pass 
away.  The  sun  will  burn  out.  The  rocks  wear 
into  dust  and  be  blown  about, — but  the  Mind, 
the  only  substance,  remains  forever.  It  was  here 
before  the  sun,  before  the  air.  It  will  always 
remain.  You  are  a  part  of  that  mind.  Why  then 
should  you,  part  of  the  eternal  mind,  suffer? 
You  cannot.  It  is  mortal  mind  that  suffers  in 
you.  You  must  not  think  that  your  own  will 
is  a  physician.  Your  will  is  a  part  of  mortal 
mind  and  may  soon  fall  into  weakness  and  dis- 
ease. Accept  the  truth — that  Christ,  the  Scien- 
tist, is  health,  strength  and  happiness.  The  phy- 
sicians have  told  you  that  you  must  die.  They 
believe  in  their  own  theory.  They  have  been 
educated.  But  how  far  toward  the  understand- 
ing of  the  real  man  has  their  education  helped 
them?  They  may  dissect  a  man — the  most  skill- 
ful of  them — and  cannot  determine  whether  this 
man  were  honest  or  a  thief,  brave  or  a  coward, 

407 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

industrious  or  lazy.  So,  then,  the  most  impor- 
tant part  of  this  man — the  something  that  made 
him  whatever  he  might  have  been,  has  wholly 
escaped  them.  They  cannot  administer  upon  the 
something  that  holds  you  alive  at  this  moment." 

"  You  cannot  mean  that  there  is  any  hope  for 
me,"  I  replied;  and  she  smiled  as  she  said: 
"  There  is  not  only  a  hope  but  a  certainty.  What 
difference  can  it  make  with  the  eternal  mind 
how  far  the  disease  of  mortal  mind  has  pro- 
gressed? Your  cure  was  effected  more  than 
ages  ago.  All  truth  is  eternal.  No  historian  can 
go  back  to  the  foundation  of  truth.  Principles 
are  more  ancient  than  the  hills.  There  is  a  part 
of  you  which  cannot  die.  It  is  the  essential  part, 
for  it  is  a  part  of  the  great  and  eternal  whole. 
That  part  can  dominate  the  physical  part." 

"  But  I  cannot  exert  my  mind,"  I  feebly  re- 
plied. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should,  for  that  part 
which  you  of  yourself  could  assert  would  be  the 
mortal  part.  This  would  do  you  no  good.  But 
you  can  accept  the  truth.  You  may  open  the 
ears  of  your  understanding.  You  have  come  to 
believe  that  you  need  a  certain  drug.  You  feel 

408 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  without  it  you  will  be  wretched.  That  is 
the  cry  of  your  mortal  self.  But  we  do  not  live 
by  mortal  self.  Realize  that  you  are  immortal — 
that  you  are  a  part  of  the  eternal  mind.  Do  net 
believe  in  that  old  error  that  you  have  within 
your  body  a  soul  to  be  tortured.  You  yourself 
are  soul — that  part  of  you  which  is  substance, 
and  substance  cannot  be  effected  by  medicine." 

Suddenly  I  realized  the  truth  of  what  she  was 
saying.  I  had  been  held  in  a  thrall,  a  slavery  of 
the  mortal  flesh.  There  could  be  but  one  su- 
preme power — Good.  Evil  had  no  place  in  the 
great  economy.  I  rose  up  with  a  new  strength 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  cot.  I  felt  that  within 
me  a  new  force  was  at  work.  New  force?  Ah, 
it  was  the  old  force,  the  eternal  force.  We  talked 
until  a  late  hour.  Then  the  woman  bade  me 
good  night,  saying  that  she  would  come  again 
on  the  following  day.  I  lay  down  and  slept.  I 
did  not  even  dream.  In  the  rebuilding  of  wasted 
forces  nature  did  not  disturb  herself.  The  care- 
less nurse  was  astonished.  She  was  determined, 
however,  that  I  should  not  draw  too  much  of 
encouragement  from  my  peaceful  and  recupera- 
tive night.  She  said  that  it  sometimes  happened 

409 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  way — just  before  the  end.  I  had  been  as- 
signed to  die,  and  it  seemed  that  to  live  was  a 
violation  of  instructions.  I  wished  to  dress  my- 
self but  she  forbade  it. 

It  was  still  early  when  the  woman  came.  SHe 
brought  with  her  a  book,  Science  and  Health. 
"  Read  this  today  and  tomorrow  I  will  come  for 
you,"  she  said.  Now  there  was  no  doubt.  I  knew 
that  she  would  come  for  me  and  that  I  should  be 
able  to  go  with  her.  She  expressed  no  surprise 
over  the  great  progress  I  had  made  during  the 
night.  "  Do  not  be  afraid  of  eating,"  she  said. 
Then  I  realized  that  I  was  hungry.  As  I  was 
doomed  to  die,  it  made  no  difference  as  to  what 
I  might  eat,  so  they  brought  me  a  substantial 
meal.  How  delicious  everything  tasted.  It  was 
as  if  the  appetite  of  early  youth  had  returned. 
Morphine !  It  did  not  exist — for  me.  This  wom- 
an, this  agent  from  the  Eternal,  told  me  that 
her  name  was  Martha  Haines.  Many  years  of 
her  life  had  been  devoted  to  Science.  She  had 
arisen  from  a  death  bed.  Now  she  was  again  in 
the  youth  of  her  health  and  her  strength. 

She  did  not  remain  long  this  time,  having 
many  other  duties,  but  left  me  to  read  the  book. 

410 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

At  first  it  was  not  clear  to  me.  It  seemed  that 
a  great  soul  was  struggling  to  express  itself  in 
the  hampering  language  of  the  body.  Over  the 
landscape  there  appeared  to  be  clouds ;  but  after 
a  while  the  sun  shone  through.  And  now  all 
was  clear.  The  day  passed  in  perfect  peace.  My 
mind  was  growing  every  moment,  but  in  its  evo- 
lution it  did  not  look  back  or  brood  upon  the  past. 
I  believed,  however,  that  remorse  must  come 
when  full  development  should  be  attained. 

In  the  evening  one  of  the  doctors  who  had  pro- 
nounced my  case  incurable  passed  along  where 
I  was  sitting,  in  a  chair  near  the  cot.  He  halted 
and  looked  at  me.  "  Is  it  possible,"  he  said. 
"  Why,  you  look  like  a  little  girl.  Your  face  is 
as  bright  as  a  Christmas  doll's." 

He  was  kindly  and  I  tried  to  tell  him  some- 
thing of  the  cause  that  had  wrought  the  great 
change.  But  I  couldn't.  He  listened  patiently 
and  then  remarked :  "  Ah,  there  are  a  great 
many,  things  that  none  of  us  can  comprehend." 

When  Martha  Haines  came  the  next  morning 
I  was  walking  about,  waiting  for  her.  She  was 
in  no  wise  astonished.  "  Ah,"  she  said,  "  you 
look  as  if  the  night  had  been  balmy." 

411 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  An  unconscious  delight,"  I  answered  and 
she  laughed.  Then  I  asked  her  if  she  thought 
me  able  to  leave  the  hospital.  How  evil  does 
cling  unto  itself.  She  answered  my  question  by 
telling  me  to  get  my  hat.  And  so,  I  went  forth 
into  the  sunshine,  into  the  new  and  joyous  world. 
How  clear  everything  was.  My  illness  had  van- 
ished as  a  fog  of  the  night,  and  with  it,  all  my 
evil  desires  had  flown.  Back  upon  my  former 
self  I  looked  and  saw  disease — moral  evil  from 
which  I  now  was  forever  cured  and  set  free. 
My  heart  was  overflowing  with  a  great  and  uni- 
versal love.  Within  me  there  was  no  vestige  of 
bitterness,  and  I  regretted  my  former  self  as  one 
would  regret  a  disease  during  which  time  and 
opportunity  had  been  wasted.  It  had  been  but 
a  dream  and  I  had  not  been  able  to  realize  that 
it  was  a  dream,  made  up  of  dark  shadows.  Now 
my  life  was  real.  The  very  sunshine  was  dif- 
ferent. It  was  a  part  of  me — of  my  mind,  my 
being.  Not  one  unhealthful  emotion  stirred 
within  me.  I  was  a  part  of  a  great  calm.  I  real- 
ized that  no  evil  could  endure.  In  my  heart  Ed- 
ward held  no  more  of  a  place  than  mankind  in 
general.  I  knew  that  it  was  but  my  mortal  mind 

412 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  had  fancied  a  love  for  him,  and  that  such 
love  was  an  evil  which  could  not  endure.  I  was 
cured  of  him.  I  thought  of  Bayless  and  toward 
him  I  felt  nothing  but  kindness.  The  only  long- 
ing I  had  was  a  desire  to  make  the  whole  of  man 
see  the  world  as  now  I  saw  it — full  of  good  with 
evil  passing  away. 


413 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE   SOLUTION   OF  ALL  TROUBLESOME   PROBLEMS. 

Mrs.  Haines  lived  in  a  quiet  street  off  from 
Grand  Boulevard,  a  Place,  they  called  it.  The 
house,  large  and  old  fashioned,  was  steep-gabled, 
the  lower  half  of  brick  and  the  upper  half  of  wood. 
From  without  it  looked  like  the  abode  of  assured 
rest,  and  when  one  had  crossed  the  threshold, 
this  impression  became  a  conviction.  Every- 
where there  was  comfort,  the  furniture  smiling 
in  good  humor,  the  pictures  all  of  them  kindly; 
and  as  I  looked  about  I  knew  that  at  last  I  had 
found  the  calm  waters  of  the  harbor  of  content- 
ment. My  hostess  spoke  no  unnecessary  words 
of  welcome.  Her  manner  was  the  grace  of  wel- 
come. "  Now  you  are  at  home,"  she  said. 

My  room,  at  the  top  of  the  house,  commanded 
a  clear  view  out  upon  the  bustling  life  of  the 
sons  of  men.  The  inner  life  was  provided  for 
with  books,  many  of  them  old,  eloquent  and  im- 
passioned errors  of  the  ancients.  I  sat  down  to 

414 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

think,  not  to  muse  as  to  what  was  to  become  of 
me.  I  knew  that  my  life  would  now  shape  itself 
i  or  graciously  be  shaped ;  I  had  no  fear  of  coming 
evil,  and  therefore  no  evil  would  come.  To  fear 
is  to  invite.  To  dread  is  to  weaken  oneself  and 
to  build  up  calamity.  In  the  sudden  possession 
of  new  health  I  was  dazzled,  more  or  less,  and 
I  could  but  regard  it  all  in  the  divine  light  of 
a  miracle,  and  it  was  while  in  prayful  gratitude 
I  was  dwelling  upon  it  that  Mrs.  Haines  came 
up  to  tell  me  that  luncheon  was  ready.  I  spoke 
my  mind  to  her;  I  took  her  hands,  looked  dim- 
eyed  into  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  not  a  miracle,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  It 
was  Science,  the  application  of  truth — and  all 
truth  and  all  good  must  be  divine.  It  was  no 
special  intervention.  It  was  the  action  of  a  prin- 
ciple." 

"  But  isn't  it  a  miracle,  then,  that  you  should 
have  found  me  and  taken  such  an  interest  in 
me?  Why  should  you  have  brought  me,  a 
stranger,  to  your  home  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  in  science  there  are  no 
strangers.  Come,  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr. 
Haines." 

415 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

Her  husband  was  sitting  at  the  table,  waiting 
for  us.  My  first  sight  of  him  bade  me  an  addi- 
tional welcome.  He  was  a  small,  quick  man, 
graceful,  and  each  gesture  seemed  as  an  act  of 
kindness.  Arising,  he  gave  my  hand  a  warm 
grasp,  and  began  at  once  to  talk  about  the  beauty 
of  the  day,  of  the  cloud-sketches  that  had  hung 
over  the  lake,  early  in  the  morning.  I  knew  that 
he  must  be  in  some  sort  of  business,  but  it  is  not 
usual  for  a  Chicago  business  man  to  find  cloud- 
sketches.  Was  he  an  artist?  No,  he  was  con- 
nected with  a  school-book  concern.  His  earlier 
life,  in  New  England,  had  been  devoted  to  the 
Unitarian  ministry.  "  It  was  then  that  I  formed 
the  habit  of  finding  pictures,"  he  said.  "  I  looked 
into  the  sky,  searching  for  the  eternal.  It  was 
before  I  knew  the  truth — that  we  find  the  eternal 
by  looking  within." 

I  wondered  whether  he  had  seen  my  scandal 
in  the  newspapers,  but  soon  I  was  made  to  un- 
derstand that  I  had  been  created  anew,  that  my 
old  mortal  error  life  had  passed  away,  and  that 
no  scandal  could  enter  into  the  life  which  I  had 
now  begun  to  live. 

No  sand  grains  of  world  gossip  drifted  into 

416 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

our  talk  at  the  table.  We  talked  of  science,  and 
I  soon  found  that  instead  of  being  a  narrow 
creed,  hemmed  in  by  the  fear  of  truth,  it  was  a 
boundless  universe,  holding  all  truth. 

"  What  an  error  poverty  is,"  said  Mr.  Haines. 
"  It  is  a  degenerate  thought  materialized  or 
rather  made  manifest  to  the  physical  eye.  When 
the  truth  shall  have  been  universally  accepted 
and  applied,  there  can  be  no  poverty.  Until  then 
there  can  be  no  complete  civilization.  So  long 
as  there  is  a  needy  person  within  its  borders,  no 
government  can  be  a  complete  success.  All  so- 
ciology is  an  experiment.  In  Science  is  the  real 
brotherhood  of  man.  Science  would  right  all  of 
the  evils  of  the  ballot  box,  would  settle  all  trou- 
blesome questions.  Resolutions  passed  by  legis- 
latures do  not  change  human  nature.  But  Science 
makes  human  nature  just.  Why?  Because  Sci- 
ence is  the  light  of  justice  and  of  truth.  Science 
would  settle  all  questions  of  race  and  combative 
denomination.  Take  the  evil  known  as  the  social 
evil.  What  have  the  churches  and  reformers 
done  with  it?  What  have  they  to  offer  except 
advice?  They  say,  'come,  be  good/  But  what 
reward  in  this  world  do  they  offer?  None.  Hun- 

417 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

dreds  of  women  have  been  taken  out  of  the  slums, 
it  is  true,  but  they  drift  back  because  no  other 
life  is  open  for  them.  Determined  morality  of 
itself  cannot  wipe  away  that  mark  of  sin — world 
disease.  At  best  the  poor  creatures  are  looked 
upon  with  tolerant  pity,  and  this  in  time  would 
become  an  offense  to  any  human  being.  Tlie 
church  says,  '  come  into  our  flock  and  be  saved, 
ye  fallen  sister/  but  when  the  sister  has  come 
she  finds  that  it  was  only  the  outward  door  that 
has  been  opened  for  her.  Evil  has  left  its  brand 
upon  her  brow ;  and  while  the  father  of  the  fam- 
ily prays  with  her  and  acknowledges  that  God 
has  forgiven  her  sins,  yet  he  is  not  willing  that 
his  wife  and  his  daughter  should  associate  with 
her,  fearing  that  regeneration  may  not  have  been 
complete.  This  has  been  discussed  thousands  of 
times,  in  the  pulpit  and  in  all  sorts  of  moral  print, 
but  no  real  remedy  has  been  brought  forward — 
or  rather  no  remedy  was  hit  upon  until  Science 
held  out  the  hand  of  true  fellowship,  of  sym- 
pathy and  of  love — the  pure  hand  that  cannot  be 
contaminated.  If  from  a  bed  of  what  is  known 
as  typhoid  fever  a  woman  arises,  the  church  does 
not  hold  her  fever  against  her.  It  says,  '  you  are 

418 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cured.'  Science  lifts  a  poor  creature  from  the 
fever  of  mortal  error  and  recognizes  the  cure. 
And  here  is  another  trouble  encountered  by  the 
creed  churches:  Reclaimed  women,  and  re- 
claimed men  as  well,  do  not  appear  to  be  fitted 
for  any  sort  of  congenial  work.  But  can  Science 
overcome  this  difficulty?  It  does.  Science  dig- 
nifies and  ennobles  any  sort  of  honest  employ- 
ment. It  endows  one  with  that  great  virtue, 
thankfulness  for  ability  to  work,  to  live,  to  feel, 
to  enjoy  the  strength  of  Eternal  Mind.  Out  of 
this  thankfulness  grows  a  constantly  increasing 
improvement.  Patience  becomes  tact,  tact  de- 
velops into  talent — and  talent  is  rewarded.  The 
heads  of  all  the  great  corporations  will  tell  you 
that  their  most  efficient  employes  are  Scientists. 
One  reason  is  that  being  healthier  they  are  al- 
ways fit  for  work.  Another  reason  is  their  abso- 
lute honesty.  A  Scientist  cannot  afford  to  de- 
ceive himself.  He  knows  that  he  cannot  be  dis- 
honest, mumble  a  few  words  on  his  knees  and 
receive  forgiveness.  Error  must  be  cured.  It 
is  not  forgiven.  Not  long  ago  I  heard  a  banker, 
in  speaking  of  a  young  man,  say  that  he  had 
come  with  the  highest  possible  recommendation 

419 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

— that  he  was  a  Christian  Scientist.  Ah,  and 
the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  Science  is  that 
you  are  not  promised  a  vague,  shadow  life  re- 
mote in  the  uncertain  hereafter.  Your  life  is 
now — never  to  end.  Your  present  visible  form 
may  pass  on,  but  you  do  not  die,  to  sleep  for 
ages  and  then  to  arise.  Taken  as  a  philosophy 
there  is  none  to  compare  with  it.  It  is  light — 
cheerfulness,  success.  It  is  at  once  the  brother 
and  the  sister  of  Nature;  it  heals  error;  it  is,  as 
I  said,  the  truth  of  the  world.  You  may  think 
that  your  own  case  is  remarkable,  but  it  is  not 
more  so  than  if  you  had  been  convinced  without 
having  been  healed  of  disease." 

I  felt  that  what  he  said  was  the  truth.  My 
heart  murmured  it — I  breathed  it  with  the  air. 

"  The  day  of  your  usefulness  has  just 
dawned,"  he  continued;  and  his  wife  sat  listen- 
ing as  if  he  were  playing  an  instrument  of  sweet- 
est music.  "  Your  dark  dream  has  passed.  You 
are  entering  upon  an  existence  of  rhythmic  har- 
mony. The  wise  know  that  will  is  merely  local, 
that  thought  is  universal.  Will  may  be  exer- 
cised as  often  in  the  direction  of  evil  as  of  good, 
but  thought,  coming  from  the  Universal  Mind, 

420 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

cannot  lead  to  evil,  for  as  it  advances,  good 
arises,  on  and  on  without  end,  so  that  eventually 
there  must  be  no  evil.  Ah,"  he  broke  off,  "  I 
see  that  you  are  still  clinging  to  some  of  the  pre- 
cautions of  the  past.  You  are  hungry  and  yet 
you  fear  to  eat.  You  must  fear  nothing.  One 
of  these  days  you  will  be  brought  to  realize  that 
there  is  no  force,  no  power  in  matter  over  spirit. 
What  you  have  been  taught  to  believe  is  inde- 
structable  matter  does  not  really  exist  at  all.  A 
part  of  it  is  always  passing  away — a  stone  or  a 
piece  of  iron;  and  if  it  can  pass,  it  never  has 
existed.  It  is  an  illusion.  Matter  having  no  life 
can  have  no  sensation.  How  often  the  short- 
sighted say,  '  Oh,  but  if  I  hold  my  finger  in  a 
flame  I  shall  suffer  pain/  Now  let  us  see  if  this 
finger  suffers.  '  It  does/  declares  the  material- 
ist. '  The  fire  communicates  with  a  nerve  and 
the  nerve  telegraphs  to  the  brain  and  then  we 
experience  sensation.'  But  how  much  of  sensa- 
tion has  the  brain?  If  it  be  the  seat  of  all  sen- 
sation it  must  be  charged  with  tenfold  sensitive- 
ness. This,  however,  is  not  true.  A  large  part 
of  the  brain  may  be  removed  with  no  great  suf- 
fering. Of  itself  it  has  no  sensation.  Then  the 

421 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

source  of  sensation  must  lie  somewhere  behind 
the  brain.  What  is  behind  the  brain  ?  The  mind  ? 
Let  the  anatomist  find  it.  In  this  latter  day  Mrs. 
Eddy  is  a  greater  discoverer  than  Columbus.  She 
rediscovered  the  almost  lost  world  of  truth.  In 
his  day  Plato  came  near  a  great  discovery.  But 
his  day  was  too  early,  for  the  revelation  of  the 
truth — the  earth  sojourn  of  Christ — had  not 
taken  place.  Christ  accented  the  truth  of  God's 
Science.  He  and  His  disciples  did  not  preach 
sickness  but  health.  Faith  was  supreme.  But 
man,  struggling  for  material  wealth,  fell  back 
into  the  evil  of  mortal  mind.  And  then  for  ages 
the  truth  seemed  to  sleep.  Men  preached  in  the 
name  of  Christ  but  could  not  quite  forgive.  They 
did  not  seem  able  to  emancipate  themselves,  to 
reapply  the  principles  once  made  so  manifest  by 
the  Great  and  True  Scientist.  But  now  there  is 
a  revival.  The  sun  so  long  obscured  has  come 
out  again,  clear  in  the  heavens.  Men  have  be- 
gun again  to  love  one  another.  And,  as  this  love 
grows — when  Science  shall  have  been  spread 
abroad  throughout  the  world,  nowhere  can  there 
be  war,  famine  or  pestilence." 

He  talked  for  a  long  time  and  eagerly  my  mind 

422 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

grasped  his  words ;  and  when  he  was  done,  I  went 
out  into  the  glorious  air  of  the  world  of  God. 
As  yet  not  thoroughly  acquainted  with  my  re- 
generation, I  sometimes  caught  myself  wonder- 
ing if  this  were  the  same  existence  in  which  I 
had  suffered  so  much — in  which  my  earth  pas- 
sions had  so  weakened  and  debased  me.  But  it 
was  true,  all  of  this  great  and  merciful  change, 
and  in  my  heart  there  was  a  prayer,  a  sweet 
chant,  and  the  music  of  it  seemed  to  fill  the  world. 
Hitherto  the  moments  which  I  had  fancied  were 
happy  were  hysterical,  beset  with  unhealthful 
emotions,  but  now  my  joy  was  quiet,  like  an  un- 
wavering, an  undazzling  light. 


423 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

NO  DREAD NO  FEAR. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday  and  we  went  to 
church — Mr.  Haines,  Mrs.  Haines  and  I;  and  it 
was  with  a  new  and  sweetly  quiet  emotion  that 
I  entered  the  great  hall  and  looked  about  me. 
Surely  I  had  never  before  seen  so  many  happy 
countenances — gold,  refined  of  all  dross.  The 
place  was  full  to  overflowing,  and  there  were  no 
outbursts  of  impassioned  speech  to  grapple  atten- 
tion— but  there  were  words  deep  with  the  mean- 
ing of  truth,  music,  and  what  was  sweeter  than 
all  music,  the  silent  prayer  of  that  multitude.  Ev- 
ery one  was  here  for  a  purpose.  Every  one  had  ac- 
complished something.  No  one  was  engaged  in 
the  world-man's  endless  task,  the  rolling  of  the 
Sysiphean  rock  of  fevered  life.  Every  face  was 
bright  with  purity  and  a  clear  aim.  And 
what  a  reunion  when  the  services  had  been  con- 
cluded! It  was  as  the  early  following  of  Christ 
must  have  been,  each  one  thankful  to  meet  the 

424 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

other.  It  was  a  family  of  brothers  and  sisters, 
not  waiting  for  formal  introduction  but  divining 
one  another  at  sight.  I  shook  hundreds  of  hands, 
it  appeared  to  me,  and  I  was  thankfully  con- 
scious that  any  eye  could  see  in  my  countenance 
the  unmistakable  message  of  redemption.  I  was 
not  moved  to  say,  "  I  am  one  of  you."  They  all 
of  them  knew,  saw,  felt  that  I  had  been  healed 
and  regenerated  by  Science.  In  even  the  coun- 
try where  people  are  most  sociable  the  church 
has  set  itself  to  cool  and  formal  ways,  the  preach- 
er himself  an  example  of  restraint.  Neighbors 
meet  of  a  Sunday,  utter  a  few  stilted  and  mean- 
ingless words  and  separate  without  a  warming 
throb.  But  how  different  here  among  these 
Scientists,  these  children  of  the  truth.  Surely 
they  have  brought  back  the  manner-charm  of  a 
former  age. 

The  day  was  aglow.  Strengthening  breezes 
blew  from  the  lake.  We  decided  to  walk  home. 
Just  as  we  reached  the  street  a  young  man  came 
toward  us.  He  shook  hands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Haines,  and  then  with  delightful  frankness  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  me;  and  so,  we  were  ac- 

425 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

quainted  even  before  Mrs.  Haines  introduced 
him — Herbert  Carroll. 

"  I  am  going  home  with  you,"  he  said  to  my 
hostess. 

'  You  are  always  welcome,  Herbert,"  she  re- 
plied. 

'  Thank  you.  And  I  am  going  to  walk  with 
our  new  sister,"  he  said. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  a  new  sister  ?  "  I 
asked,  walking  along  with  him.  "  Has  any  one 
told  you?" 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  necessary  to  be  told.  I  could 
see  that  your  habiliments  were  freshly  made  and 
that  you  wore  them  with  the  grace  and  the 
charm  of  novelty." 

"  Elinor,"  said  Mrs.  Haines,  looking  back, 
"  you  must  expect  such  talk  from  our  friend.  He 
has  not  been  long  out  of  the  University  of  Chi- 
cago." 

"  And  had  it  not  been  for  her,  Miss  Dawson," 
said  he,  "  my  degree  would  have  been  on  stone 
rather  than  sheep-skin.  When  all  others  had 
given  me  up  she  came  with  the  light  and  the 
truth." 

"  Then  we  are  brother  and  sister,"  I  made  re- 

426 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ply.  "  I  had  also  been  given  up.  Mortal  effort 
declared  its  weakness  and  put  me  on  a  cot  to 
die." 

He  took  my  hand,  this  stranger — this  brother, 
and  for  a  time  we  walked  along  as  two  children, 
coming  home  from  school — in  silence,  and  in  that 
silence  two  spirits  flew  across  the  world  and 
tipped  each  other  with  their  wings — flew  across 
a  thousand  years,  through  thunder  clouds  and 
over  oceans  gnarled  with  storms,  out  into  the 
sunshine  and  the  blessed  calm  of  a  God-favored 
day. 

When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  was  softer  as 
if  a  strain  of  music  had  become  so  low  as  to 
whisper  that  it  was  not  quite  silence.  "  I  knew 
when  I  looked  at  you,  as  you  came  up  the  aisle 
from  your  silent  prayer,"  he  said — "  I  knew  that 
your  spirit  had  just  drunk  of  the  dews  of  the 
morning." 

"  Ah,"  I  replied,  "  but  when  I  have  told  you  of 
the  black  night  you — you —  " 

Again  he  touched  my  hand — touched  me  to 
silence.  "  When  the  sun  has  arisen,  the  black 
night  has  never  existed,"  he  said. 

How  generous  and  how  frank  were  his  words. 
427 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

The  night  was  gone  forever,  had  been  a  vision, 
and  with  him  I  would  believe  that  it  had  not 
existed.  I  had  found  it  an  evil  and  it  had  van- 
ished. It  was  but  a  shadow,  and  all  shadows 
must  pass  away. 

I  asked  him  to  tell  me  of  his  cure,  of  the  time 
when  the  light  like  a  golden  lamp  had.  been 
brought  to  him,  and  looking  up  I  caught  his 
radiant  smile.  "  In  a  game  of  foot-ball  I  had 
received  what  they  called  a  mortal  hurt,"  he  said. 
"  For  days  I  was  unconscious ;  and  to  regain 
consciousness  was  to  be  racked  with  misery  so 
blighting  as  to  drive  me  again  into  mental  noth- 
ingness. My  only  hope  was  not  to  exist  at  all. 
I  have  no  parents  and  my  uncle  who  was  my 
guardian  was  educating  me.  He  was  tied  hand 
and  foot,  by  creed,  of  the  church  and  of  the  medi- 
cal school,  being  himself  a  physician.  But  his 
wife  had,  through  reason  rather  than  by  the  heal- 
ing of  disease,  embraced  Christian  Science. 
While  in  the  East  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Eddy  and 
had  talked  with  her ;  so,  when  all  of  the  old  meth- 
ods and  many  that  were  thought  to  be  new  had 
failed,  she  requested  Mrs.  Haines  to  visit  me. 
You  know  the  rest.  No,  not  all.  Before  receiv- 

428 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ing  the  hurt  I  was  inconsiderate,  wild  you  might 
say.  In  life  I  saw  no  object  except  to  follow  the 
lines  which  I  believed  must  lead  to  enjoyment. 
I  frequently  drank  to  excess,  and  gambling  held 
for  me  a  devouring  fascination.  But  when  I  was 
healed,  the  evils  of  drink  and  gambling  did  not 
exist." 

"  You  are  indeed  my  brother,"  I  said,  and  now 
I  took  his  hand  and  as  before  we  walked  along 
in  silence. 

How  short  the  distance  seemed  and  how  strong 
I  felt  when  we  reached  home.  Ah,  it  was  a 
home,  and  how  few  there  are  in  this  great 
muddle  of  selfish  men  and  idle,  aimless  women. 
In  the  parlor  we  had  music — rest ;  and  at  the  din- 
ing table  we  talked  Science,  that  never  old  sub- 
ject. 

"  Our  little  sister  is  going  to  write,"  said  Mr. 
Haines.  "  She  smiles  at  the  idea,  but  you  ob- 
serve that  she  doesn't  frown  at  it.  Yes,  she  is 
going  to  write  the  story  of  her  life,  telling  the 
truth  at  all  times,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  do 
good.  She  is  going  to  give  every  phase  of  her 
mortal  mind,  so  that  others  groping  along  the 
brambly  path  may  take  heart." 

429 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  But  I  must  do  some  work  first,"  I  replied. 
"  I  have  a  trade." 

"  Yes,  you  must  work,"  he  rejoined,  "  but  it 
must  be  the  work  for  which  you  are  best  fitted 
— the  work  that  will  benefit  the  world  the  most; 
and  so,  tomorrow  or  the  day  afterward,  you  are 
going  to  write  a  short  story  for  a  magazine  or 
perhaps  for  a  school  book.  And  mind  you,  it 
will  be  paid  for.  Now  don't  say  that  you  have 
had  no  training.  To  have  felt  is  the  greatest 
of  all  training.  My  wife  says  that  you  are  des- 
tined to  write  and  we  must  not  dispute  her  word." 

Mrs.  Haines  reached  over  and  gently  placed 
her  hand  on  mine.  "  Work  when  you  feel  dis- 
posed, my  dear,"  she  said.  "  But  don't  think 
that  you  are  compelled  to  work  in  order  to  dis- 
charge any  obligation  you  may  feel  toward  me. 
I  know  that  you  will  do  exactly  what  is  right." 

"  And,"  Herbert  Carroll  remarked,  "  you  will 
find  that  every  one  of  your  faculties  has  been 
brightened  and  strengthened.  Yesterday  I  met 
an  old  man  who  for  many  years  had  been  a  buyer 
for  a  wholesale  clothing  house.  But  a  few 
months  ago  he  was  told  that  he  had  lived  beyond 
the  time  of  serviceable  judgment,  and  conse- 

430 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

quently,  while  not  actually  dismissed,  he  was  re- 
duced to  a  position  of  mere  drudgery.  To  look 
with  complacency  upon  the  eternal  loss  of  useful- 
ness requires  more  of  philosophy  than  is  possessed 
by  the  most  of  men.  It  is  harder  than  to  resign 
oneself  to  actual  death.  And  so,  this  man  de- 
cided that  it  was  better  for  him  to  die.  He  made 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  upon  his  life.  It  was 
then  that  Science  found  him.  And  now?  He 
has  been  reinstated,  not  as  a  propitiation  but  be- 
cause his  usefulness  has  returned.  Ah,  there  is 
not  only  a  fountain  of  health  but  of  youth.  It  is 
Science." 

How  earnest  he  was,  and  how  handsome,  his 
dark  eyes  aglow;  and  as  I  looked  upon  him  I 
thought  that  surely  he  was  superior  to  any  man 
I  had  ever  known.  He  was  strong,  an  athlete, 
and  withal  a  man  of  thought,  modestly  spoken 
— and  with  the  spirit  of  good  humor  making 
play-ground  of  his  countenance.  It  was  a  quiet 
and  a  refined  delight  to  study  him,  to  note  the 
inflections  of  his  voice  and  the  illustrative  graces 
of  his  manner.  His  education  had  been  so  thor- 
ough as  now  to  pass  into  the  unconsciousness 
of  strength.  He  knew  so  well  the  force  of  words 

431 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  for  the  most  part  he  talked  in  "  simples,"  and 
never  with  the  studied  repression,  the  modifying 
"  paleness,"  breathed  out  upon  the  air  of  so  many 
of  the  great  universities.  Upon  him  he  bore  the 
mark  of  no  profession,  which  Johnson  thought 
was  the  true  test  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  I 
was  for  once  constrained  to  believe  Johnson  right, 
this  blunt-sighted  definer,  this  hippopotamus  of 
literature ;  but  I  knew  that  Carroll  was  not  afraid 
of  a  mark,  of  the  pick,  the  shovel — that  he  would 
do  day  labor  rather  than  to  be  a  useless  walker 
on  the  busy  earth.  Between  him  and  me  there 
were  none  of  the  restraints  of  forced  modesty. 
And  why  should  there  have  been?  Had  not  our 
spirits  flown  across  the  ancient  skies  and  touched 
wings  in  today's  empyrean?  Had  he  come  to  me 
as  a  reward  for  all  that  I  had  falsely  suffered? 
No,  for  why  should  the  false  be  rewarded?  He 
had  come  simply  as  the  truth,  as  a  kinsman  of 
the  heart,  and  even  his  regard  was  more  of 
worth  than  all  of  the  earth-love  that  had  ever 
been  vowed  for  me.  He  asked  me  if  I  should 
like  to  go  out  for  a  walk,  and  he  saw  my  answer 
before  I  had  uttered  it. 

"  Had  Mrs.  Haines  told  you  nothing  of  me  ?  " 

432 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  asked  of  him  as  we  walked  along  beneath  the 
trees. 

"Nothing  whatever,"  he  answered.  "  And 
when  I  had  seen  you,  there  was  naught  to  tell. 
We  might  listen  to  a  lecture  on  a  star,  but  the 
star  does  not  exist  for  us  until  we  have  looked 
upon  it — until  with  our  eyes  we  have  drunk  its 
rays." 

I  did  not  know  how  to  reply  to  him,  but  I  felt 
that  indeed  there  was  much  more  to  tell.  He  was 
a  man,  on  earth,  and  his  interest  in  me  entitled 
him  to  my  story,  if  the  time  now  in  the  bud  should 
ripen;  but  I  dreaded  it,  that  sad  ripening.  And 
then  something  seemed  to  whisper :  "  There 
must  be  no  dread,  no  fear." 


433 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

LIGHT   IN   A  DARK   PLACE. 

On  the  following  day  I  went  with  Mrs.  Haines 
to  visit  some  of  her  charges.  I  shall  not  forget 
one,  a  woman,  employed  as  house-keeper  in  a 
prosperous  family.  For  a  time  I  was  left  alone 
with  this  woman,  and  with  a  cheerfulness  which 
too  many  women  have  forgotten  or  have  never 
acquired,  she  began  to  talk  of  her  newly  awak- 
ened ambition,  which  was,  to  be  of  use  in  the 
world.  "  I  didn't  begin  to  live  the  true  life  un- 
til a  few  months  ago,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Haines 
came  to  me  in  an  hour  that  was  dark  and  in  a 
place  that  was  darker.  Years  ago  my  life  was 
given  over  to  error.  I  lived  in  offense  of  all 
morality — on  the  bread  of  vice,  and  was  decked 
out  with  the  glitters  of  what  the  world  knows 
as  the  vilest  sin.  You  know  what  I  mean." 

"  It  is  plain  enough,  and  I  am  not  here  to  cast 
the  first  stone,"  I  replied. 

434 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

She  smiled,  and  in  the  light  radiated  from  her 
own  countenance,  she  was  handsome. 

"  I  could  not  look  forward  to  an  escape  from 
that  life,"  she  said.  "  I  was  not  ignorant,  hav- 
ing been  fairly  well  schooled  in  the  country,  but 
the  mark  of  the  evil  life  was  upon  me,  and  there 
appeared  to  be  nothing  that  could  wash  away  the 
stain.  Whenever  the  reformers  persuaded  a  girl 
to  leave  our  abode  we  knew  that  she  would  soon 
come  back  again,  for  you  must  understand  that 
the  avowed  gospel  of  the  churches  has  never  been 
able  to  compel  society  to  accept  the  once  fallen 
woman." 

"  Society  does  not  weigh  causes,"  said  I.  "  The 
gospel  weighs  and  estimates,  and  prescribes  a 
cure — the  right  gospel,  but  it  is  not  the  gospel 
of  studied  declamation,  of  preachers  dignified 
out  of  all  tenderness  and  love." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  assented.  "  But  as  I  was 
saying,  we  all  knew  that  the  reformed  one 
would  find  her  way  back  to  us,  with  a  sneer  on 
her  lip.  We  knew  that  she  would  be  driven 
back,  with  bitterness  in  her  heart  and  contempt 
in  her  laughter — the  laughter  of  final  despair. 
We  knew  all  of  this,  but  we  knew  nothing  of  the 

435 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

real  cure.  But  one  day  a  girl  left  us  and — she 
came  back,  it  is  true,  not  to  live  with  us  again 
but  to  bring  the  message  of  a  wonderful  discov- 
ery. Her  face,  her  beaming  spirit  showed  that 
there  had  been  a  miraculous  change.  Her  heart 
was  light  and  a  gentle  love  for  all  humanity 
shone  from  her  eyes.  I  was  ill  at  the  time;  the 
doctors  said  that  I  had  consumption.  It  was  all 
I  could  do  to  breathe.  '  Oh,  but  you  will  soon  be 
well/  she  said  to  me.  '  You  must  know  that  dis- 
ease is  an  evil  and  that  in  truth  there  is  no  evil. 
Good  does  not  wish  that  evil  should  exist.  And 
now,  I  am  going  to  bring  some  one  to  see  you.' 
She  did.  Mrs.  Haines  came  the  next  day.  It 
would  be  unnatural  to  suppose  that  I  had  very 
much  faith.  I  hadn't — but  I  liked  to  hear  Mrs. 
Haines  talk.  Consumptives  usually  believe  they 
are  going  to  get  well.  But  not  so  with  consump- 
tives in  a  house  of  that  sort.  There,  under  the 
constant  lash  of  conscience,  all  disease  seems 
mortal.  But  it  was  not  long  before  I  could  walk 
about — and  breathe,  ah,  breathe.  And  within  a 
month  I  was  healed.  I  came  out  of  that  place 
not  hating  it  but  pitying  it — came  out  into  the 
new  world,  not  afraid  of  society,  of  women,  for 

436 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

I  knew  that  when  truth  should  see  me,  truth 
would  know  that  I  had  been  cured  and  was 
sound.  And  when  I  went  to  the  church  of  Christ, 
Scientist,  there  was  the  warm,  welcoming  hand, 
the  kindly  eye ;  and  in  that  silent  prayer  I  thanked 
God  that  I  was  alive  and  of  use  in  this  great 
world.  Ah,  and  nearly  all  of  the  inmates  of  that 
house  have  come  forth  into  the  world  of  useful- 
ness and  purity.  The  other  day  I  met  one,  the 
handsomest  but  the  most  ignorant  one  among 
us;  and  she  told  me  that  she  was  scrubbing 
floors,  thanking  God  for  her  happiness." 

Mrs.  Haines  and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  an 
old  but  bright  woman,  came  into  the  room.  "  Ah, 
Miss  Evans  has  been  telling  you  something," 
said  Mrs.  Haines. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  she  has — she  has  told  me 
of  the  solving  of  a  problem  that  the  philosophers 
and  the  great  moral  statesmen  have  tried  in  vain 
to  solve — the  problem  of  the  social  evil." 

"  It  is  a  dark  spot  that  will  pass  away  when 
the  sun  of  universal  truth  shall  have  thrown 
its  beams  into  forgotten  corners,"  Mrs.  Haines 
rejoined.  "  My  husband,  as  you  know,  believes 

437 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

that  Science  will  eventually  settle  all  troublesome 
questions." 

"  And  best  of  all,"  said  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  laughing,  "  it  has  smoothed  out  the 
wrinkles  of  old  age.  Five  years  ago  my  hus- 
band and  I  awoke  to  the  truth  that  we  had  not 
passed  beyond  the  days  of  our  usefulness;  and 
since  then  we  have  been  happier  than  ever  be- 
fore. The  Bible  and  Science  and  Health  have 
been  our  constant  companions." 

When  we  had  gone  forth  from  the  house  I 
said  to  Mrs.  Haines :  "  My  vision  is  constantly 
broadening;  and  when  I  sit  down  to  write,  as 
Mr.  Haines  has  suggested,  I  shall  feel  that  I  am 
to  help  some  one.  And,  as  he  also  remarked, 
I  am  going  to  give  every  phase  and  every  whim 
of  my  mortal  mind,  thereby  hoping  to  steal  into 
every  woman's  mood,  and  to  make  a  confidant 
of  every  heart." 

We  went  to  a  number  of  places,  finding  con- 
tentment and  brightness  everywhere.  Ah,  how 
different  was  this  new,  this  real  world,  from  the 
midnight  dream-world  that  I  had  known,  in 
which  I  had  suffered  so  much.  And  yet,  here 
were  the  same  streets,  the  same  buildings,  the 

438 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

same  people,  the  most  of  them  racing  for  some- 
thing never  to  be  caught — the  happiness  of  mere 
matter. 

On  our  way  home  we  talked  of  many  things, 
all  bearing  upon  Science,  as  all  things  of  real 
worth  must  bear  upon  it;  and  several  times  my 
companion  spoke  of  Herbert  Carroll;  and  over 
my  being  there  flowed  successive  waves  of  quiet 
pleasure — waves  of  warming  light,  they  were, 
lifting  my  mind  into  a  serener  view  of  life  and 
of  truth.  Garbed  in  the  raiment  of  modern 
flesh  we  had  met  but  once,  it  was  true,  but  if  we 
cannot  point  to  the  end  of  mind  association,  who 
can  go  back  beyond  the  beginning  ? 

That  night,  alone  in  my  room,  near  the  win- 
dow with  the  stars  looking  in  upon  me,  I  wrote 
to  my  mother.  With  the  truth  my  pen  made  free 
use,  as  it  is  doing  at  this  moment  as  I  write  to 
you,  troubled  brother,  dark-souled  sister;  and  no 
error  of  my  own  escaped  from  under  a  just  and 
proper  emphasis.  But  I  told  her,  and  with  the 
strength  that  does  not  fear  to  be  happy  lest  it 
be  a  deception — told  her  of  my  new  birth  into 
the  real  world.  "  I  have  just  begun  to  live,"  I 
said,  as  all  of  us  say,  "  and  I  find  life  full  of  kind- 

439 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

liness,  sweetness  and  love.  '  Oh,  for  the  ideal 
life,'  sighed  one  in  the  ancient  day,  bowing  his 
aged  head  upon  his  books,  the  work  of  his  brain ; 
but  he  passed  on,  without  having  found  the  true 
life,  as  have  passed  thousands  of  others  whom 
the  world  looked  upon  as  great.  They  lived  upon 
the  verge  of  blessed  truth  without  having  em- 
braced it.  Then  why  should  not  I  rejoice  that  I 
live  now,  in  this  day  of  love — this  never  ending, 
eternal  day !  Christ  points  out  the  way  to  health. 
To  many  did  he  say,  '  be  thou  well/  but  to  none, 
1  be  thou  sick/  Out  of  the  sepulchre  he  called 
forth  Lazarus,  and  out  of  the  tomb  of  moral  dis- 
ease he  called  a  woman.  When  from  darkness  we 
come  suddenly  forth  into  the  light  of  the  sun  we 
are  dazzled;  and  so,  as  the  light  is  as  yet  com- 
paratively new  to  me,  I  am  not  prepared  to  ex- 
plain it.  I  should  have  termed  my  recovery 
from  disease  and  the  slavery  of  opium  as  a  mir- 
acle. In  the  olden  day  it  would  have  been  deemed 
such,  but  now  it  is  known  as  a  natural  visitation, 
the  application  not  of  a  new  but  of  an  eternal 
principle.  And  as  such  I  must  accept  it." 

Early  the  next  morning  I  began  to  write,  and 
it  seemed  that  for  the  first  time  all  of  my  facul- 

440 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

ties,  memory,  judgment  of  self,  came  into  full 
being.  The  years  were  as  yesterdays,  clear  in 
immediate  view,  and  through  them  I  could  trace 
my  emotions.  But  at  no  time  did  I  neglect  my 
study.  Science,  as  a  great  principle;  requires  not 
only  faith,  which  makes  one  confident,  but  re- 
search, which  renders  one  wise. 

In  the  evening  Herbert  Carroll  came.  With 
him  he  brought  the  brightness  and  the  broad- 
spreading  strength  of  the  new  world.  Hitherto 
there  might  have  bloomed  a  flower,  a  sudden  and 
unexpected  thought,  but  here  was  a  whole  forest 
of  verdure  and  of  blossom.  Sitting  near  the  win- 
dow in  the  soft  air,  in  the  light  of  the  shaded 
lamp,  he  told  me  of  his  former  life,  of  what  he 
had  believed,  of  the  errors  through  which  he  had 
passed.  "  With  Hartman  in  his  Philosophy  of 
the  Unconscious,"  said  he,  "  I  believed  that  crea- 
tion was  a  mistake  of  the  Wise  One,  if  there 
were  a  Wise  One,  and  that  its  constant  sor- 
row was  but  a  groan  over  the  lamentable  fact 
that  it  was  an  error — that  our  disappointments 
were  the  reflection  of  a  repentance  on  the  part  of 
the  Creator.  Death  was  better  than  life  for  death 
was  not  an  ephemeral  trouble  but  an  eternal  non- 
441 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

existence.  Taking  council  with  Annikeris,  I 
could  believe  that  our  only  hope  was  for  the  ex- 
tirpation of  hope.  Reason  taught  that  epicurism 
must  end  in  misery.  To  be  was  to  be  wrong. 
Pain  was  a  threat  of  the  only  reality,  being  a 
foretaste  of  death,  the  eternal  condition.  And  as 
death  must  come,  I  was  determined  to  get  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  life;  and,  seeking  to  get 
much,  I  got  nothing.  I  did  not  know  that  man 
must  be  a  part  of  the  grand  harmony  of  the  uni- 
verse. I  could  not  conceive  that  this  was  not 
essentially  a  world  of  sorrow.  The  ancients  had 
declared  it  and  modern  man  had  kept  up  the 
echo.  The  greatest  of  all  poets  shed  the  luster 
of  a  truth  when  he  said  that  there  was  nothing 
good  or  evil  but  that  thinking  made  it  so.  Com- 
mon sense — which  is  the  meditative  genius  of 
after  thought — might  have  proved  to  me  that  in 
this  life  thinking  is  everything  that  is.  But  it 
did  not.  I  was  not  prepared  to  think.  The  day 
had  not  arrived.  All  physical  power — the  rush- 
ing of  a  railway  engine,  is  but  the  expression  of 
a  thought.  And  if  so,  how  could  that  mighty 
thought  lie  within  the  narrow  cell  of  a  mere 
brain? 

442 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

The  hours  died  away,  as  music  dies  into  sweet 
silence.  He  did  not  speak  a  word  of  love,  but 
love  was  in  his  eyes  and  his  voice;  and  when  he 
was  gone  I  felt  that  never  before  had  I  known 
the  meaning  of  companionship — of  affection. 


443 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

With  the  morrow  there  came  a  letter  from  my 
mother.  To  her  and  to  Samuel  the  light  had 
come.  "For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am  strong 
and  contented,"  she  wrote.  "My  letters  to  you 
had  remained  unanswered  and  I  thought  that  you 
must  have  gone  abroad  again,  but  still  I  could 
not  understand  why  you  had  not  written  to  me. 
One  evening  a  neighbor  came  over  with  a  news- 
paper, and  then  my  humiliation  and  my  sorrow 
almost  smothered  me.  I  begged  him  to  let  none 
of  the  neighbors  see  it  and  he  promised.  And  it 
was  kept  dark  from  them.  Still  I  was  miserable 
for  I  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  you.  You 
know  what  I  must  have  feared.  I  prayed  at 
church,  but  no  comfort  came.  The  truth  was 
that  I  didn't  know  how  to  pray.  It  was  while  I 
was  longing  for  release  from  this  world  of  rusty 
chains  that  Samuel,  who  had  been  at  Wheeling, 
came  home  with  a  message.  About  it  there  was 

444 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

nothing  fanatical,  for  you  know  that  he  is  a  man 
of  rare  good  sense.  He  told  me  of  a  meeting 
which  he  had  attended  and  of  the  thoughts  that 
had  come  into  his  life.  Soon  afterward  I  went 
with  him.  We  gathered  up  all  the  literature  we 
could  get  on  the  subject — we  went  again  to  the 
meeting;  and  then  the  truth  dawned.  And  now, 
we  are  not  only  happy  but  prosperous.  Weak- 
ness and  indecision  are  diseases  and  we  have 
been  cured  of  them.  Vanity  is  a  disease  and  I 
have  been  healed  of  it.  I  long  to  see  you  again, 
for  I  know  you  now.  I  know  myself,  which  is 
more,  and  I  know  the  truth  which  is  the  most  of 
all." 

It  is  midnight  and  Herbert  has  just  left  me. 
In  the  heavens  the  stars  are  aglow  and  in  my 
heart  the  moon  has  arisen.  We  were  sitting  on 
the  sofa.  He  took  my  hands  and  from  his  elo- 
quent heart  the  words  of  pure  and  undented  love 
flowed  forth,  to  enrapture  me — to  fill  my  being 
with  happiness. 

"  But  you  must  know  my  sad  story,"  I  said  to 
him  when  he  had  asked  me  to  be  his  wife. 

445 


Merciful  Unto  Me,  a  Sinner 

"  I  have  not  asked  for  your  story  but  for  your 
love,"  he  answered,  kissing  me. 

"  It  is  but  just  that  I  should  tell  you." 

"  But  who  am  I  to  receive  confessions  ?  "  he 
said.  "  It  is  I,  rather,  who  ought  to  confess  to 
you." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  generous — but  I  owe  it 
to  myself  to  tell  you,"  said  I,  and  I  told  him,  and 
about  me  he  put  his  arms,  and  all  the  world  was 
filled  with  melody.  And  now  it  is  midnight  and 
I  am  looking  at  the  stars.  In  my  heart  his  words 
are  echoing.  Within  a  few  days  we  shall  go  to 
my  old  home,  to  play  in  the  sunshine  that  falls 
upon  the  slope  of  the  hill.  And  then  we  shall 
go  to  our  new  home,  to  work  together,  and  to 
live. 


THE  END. 


446 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBHARY  FACILITY 


A     000  038  749     8 


